


Divergent: Fairy Tail

by KillerPotatoChip427



Series: Divergent: Fairy Tail [1]
Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth, Fairy Tail
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anxiety, Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Betrayal, Brainwashing, Character Death, Child Abuse, Dementia, Demons, Disabled Character, Drugs, Dyslexia, Espionage, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fear of Death, Fear of Flying, Fights, Gender Issues, Hermaphrodites, Homophobia, How Do I Tag, Insomnia, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Magic, Magic-Users, Major Illness, Mental Breakdown, Mild Gore, Mind Control, Multi, Murder-Suicide, Mystery, Nightmares, Obsession, Original Character Death(s), Other, Paintball, Panic Attacks, Past Brainwashing, Past Child Abuse, Psychic Abilities, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slow Build, Soul Bond, Suicide, Utopia, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-07-10 12:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 67,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6984337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillerPotatoChip427/pseuds/KillerPotatoChip427
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would you do if every single choice you ever made was never your own to make? If the life you lived was never your own? If instead of destiny, or fate, you had a preset plan? What would you do, if a single choice affected everything your life depended on? How can you cheat a system created by the gods? How can you defy all odds against an army? How can you win a war against your name? Your own blood? How can you escape a curse placed generations ago? How can you do the impossible?</p>
<p>Simple.</p>
<p>Be unique. </p>
<p>Be extraordinary. </p>
<p>Be a wizard. </p>
<p>Be Divergent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic ever, so if its crappy please let me know what the heck I did wrong with my life. Homophobes please do not read, and if you do, keep your hate to yourself. Comments, Kudos, and Death threats are appreciated. 
> 
> Thank you and Enjoy,
> 
> Killer Potato Chip 427

400 years ago, the Great War happened. The Great War caused so much global devastation, so much carnage, destruction, that it forced humanity to start anew. To gather in one location for rebirth.

To mend the mistakes that lead to the Great War, the community decided to create the Factions, communities of people dedicated to a certain purpose and duty to fulfil within the community, each with a blamed cause for the war.

The Abnegation. The selfless. Those who blamed selfishness and pride, became our government. People willing to put others before themselves at all times.

The Erudite. The brilliant. They blamed human ignorance and stupidity. They became our teachers and scientists.

The Candor. The truthful. They blamed deception and the cunning. They became our lawyers and legislature.

The Amity. The kind. They who blamed anger and hate. They embraced the earth and became our farmers and peacekeepers.

And finally, The Dauntless. The Brave. They blamed cowardice and fear. They became our police and protectors of the city.

Each person is born into a Faction. And each person has the option of moving from one Faction to another by the results of the aptitude test. The aptitude test determines your life, family, and duties. Each chapter of the test, for which there are 5, crosses out four Factions and leaves you with one. For the most part.

But there are others that receive more than one option. These people are called Divergent. The chosen few who end up being Divergent have certain abilities that are not available to the rest of humanity. They can use magic. A source of energy that allows the user to use one specific type of energy or magic ability. Ranging from the elements to the human body to animals, only two things are certain about the Divergent: they were a danger to the system and that no magic user could possess more than one magic ability.

Until now.

It is in a time when the newest generation begins to uncover the truth that our story begins.


	2. Beginnings

I do not own Fairy Tail nor do I own the Divergent Franchise. I have no beta so please forgive my horrible typing and grammar.

My house has one mirror, located behind a sliding panel in the upstairs hallway. I am only allowed to get a glimpse of myself on the second Sunday of every other month. The day my mother, Grandeeney, cuts my hair.

I sit on the stool as my mother stands behind me with the scissors, trimming away at my sakura locks. One by one I watch as the strands fall on the floor in an array of pink.

When she finishes, she pulls my hair away from my face and tries to contain my spikey, uncontrollable hair. I notice how calm she looks through the mirror and how focused she is, and try to picture myself in her shoes. She is excellent in the art of losing herself. I can't say the same about myself though.

I sneak a look at my reflection in the full body mirror when she wasn't paying attention—not for the sake of vanity, mind you, but out of curiosity. A lot can happen to a person in two months. In my reflection, I see a childish face with wide, round emerald-obsidian eyes, and a small, button nose—I still look like a little girl, although in June, I turned sixteen. The other factions celebrate birthdays, but we don't. Apparently it's considered to be self-indulgent.

I look below to my body and notice that my figure has grown to that of the hourglass. I notice two large globs of flesh on my chest. Reminders of my curse. The reason of my isolation. My discrimination. I was born both male and female. As the only hermaphrodite to ever exists inside the allied city. And the only Abnegation that doesn't belong.

I stand out with my unnatural pink hair in a crowd of blonds, brunettes, and ravens. I am the only other tanned person in the Abnegation, besides my father Igneel. I have larger breasts and hips than every other girl in my school, regardless of faction, and I should be pleased, and I am, mind you. Most people would be. But here in the Abnegation, it highlights my inferiority. My displacement. My disease. Simply because I am a male trapped within a female's body.

I snap out of my reverie when my mother puts the scissors down with a thump.

"There," she says when she finally finishes tying my hair with a lace. Her eyes catch mine in the mirror and for a moment I think she will scold me, but she smiles at our reflection. I frown a little. Why doesn't she reprimand me for staring at myself for longer than needed? Isn't that what the normal Abnegation would do?

"So today is the day," she says.

"Yes," I reply.

"Are you nervous?"

I stare into my own eyes for a second. Today is the day of the aptitude test that will show me which of the five factions I belong in. And tomorrow, at the Choosing Ceremony, I will decide on a faction; I will decide the rest of my life. I will decide to stay with my family or abandon them.

I look at my mother and for a fraction of a second I see a strange fire in her eyes. But when I look again, the flame is gone.

"No," I say from memory. "The tests don't have to change our choices or destinies."

"Right." She smiles. "Let's go eat breakfast." For a moment I think I hear a sliver of disappointment in her voice.

"Thank you. For cutting my hair." I say.

She kisses my cheek and slides the panel over the mirror. I think my mother could be beautiful, in a different world. Her body is thin beneath the gray robe. She has high cheekbones and long eyelashes, and when she lets her platinum blond hair down at night, it hangs in waves over her shoulders. But she must hide that beauty in Abnegation. As to not seem prideful.

We walk together to the kitchen. On these mornings when my sister makes breakfast, and my father's hand skims my hair as he reads the newspaper, and my mother hums as she clears the table—it is on these mornings that I feel guiltiest for wanting to leave them. For wanting to be different.

I brush the thought from my mind and wait to be served.

The bus we are on stinks of exhaust and contained gases. Every time it hits a patch of uneven pavement, it jostles me from side to side, even though I'm gripping the seat to keep myself still.

My younger sister, Wendy, stands in the aisle, holding a railing above her head to keep herself steady, even though she is the smallest of us all. We don't look alike. She has dark blue hair and a small nose and my mother's blue eyes and unblemished cheeks although their not related. When she was younger, that collection of features looked strange, awkward, but now it suits her. She looks more mature. If she wasn't Abnegation, I'm sure the boys at school would stare. Unlike me, where the girls look at me in disgust and the boys ignore me.

She also inherited my mother's talent for selflessness.

She moves aside and lets a seat behind her be taken up by a burly Candor man without a second thought. As if it was second nature.

The Candor man wears a black suit with a white tie—Candor standard uniform. Their faction values honesty and sees the truth as black and white, so that is what they wear.

The gaps between the buildings narrow and the roads are smoother as we near the heart of the city. The building that was once called the Sears Tower—now called the Tower—emerges from the fog, a black-blue pillar in the skyline. The bus passes under the elevated train tracks. I have never been on a train, though they never stop running and there are tracks everywhere. Only the Dauntless ride them.

Five years ago, volunteer construction workers from Abnegation repaved some of the roads. They started in the middle of the city and worked their way outward until they ran out of materials. The roads where I live are still cracked and patchy, and it's not safe to drive on them. We don't have a car anyway. Hardly any Abnegation does.

Wendy's expression is calm as the bus sways and jolts on the road. The gray robe falls from her arm as she clutches the pole for balance. I can tell by the constant shift of her eyes that she is watching the people around us—striving to see only them and to forget about herself. Candor values honesty, but our faction, Abnegation, values selflessness. And right now, she is the perfect example. As usual.

The bus stops in front of the school and I get up, bumping against and past the Candor man. I grab Wendy's arm as I stumble over the man's shoes. My slacks are too long, and I've never been that graceful.

The Upper Level building is the oldest of the three schools in the city: Lower Level, Mid-Level, and Upper Level. Like all the other buildings around it, it is made of glass and steel. In front of it is a large metal sculpture that the Dauntless climb after school, daring each other to go higher and higher. Last year I watched one of them fall and break her leg. I was the one who ran to get the nurse.

"Aptitude tests today," I say. Wendy is only fourteen, yet we are still in the same year. She nods as we pass through the front doors. My muscles tighten the second we walk in. The atmosphere feels hungry, like every eighteen-year-old is trying to devour as much as they can get of this last day. It is likely that we will not walk these halls again after the Choosing Ceremony—once we choose, our new factions will be responsible for finishing our education.

Our classes are cut in half today, so we will attend all of them before the aptitude tests, which take place after lunch. My heart rate is already elevated.

"You aren't at all worried about what they'll tell you?" I ask Wendy.

We pause at the split in the hallway where she will go one way, toward Advanced Math, and I will go the other, toward Gifted Faction History.

She raises an eyebrow at me. "Are you?"

I could tell her that I've been worried for weeks about what the aptitude test will tell me—Abnegation, Candor, Erudite, Amity, or Dauntless?

Instead I smile and say, "Not really."

She smiles back. "Well…have a good day."

I walk toward Gifted Faction History, chewing on my lower lip. She never answered my question.

The hallways are cramped, though the light coming through the windows creates the illusion of space; they are one of the only places where the factions mix, at our day and age. Today the crowd has a new kind of energy, a last day mania.

A girl with long curly hair shouts "Hey!" next to my ear, waving at a distant friend. A jacket sleeve smacks me on the cheek. Then a blond blue-eyed Erudite boy in a blue sweater shoves me. I lose my balance and fall hard on the ground with a thump.

"Out of my way, Freak," he snaps, and continues down the hallway.

My cheeks heat up. I get up and dust myself off. A few people stopped when I fell, but none of them offered to help me. Their eyes follow me to the edge of the hallway. This sort of thing has been happening to others in my faction for months now—the Erudite have been releasing antagonistic reports about Abnegation, and it has begun to affect the way we relate at school. The gray clothes, the plain hairstyle, and the unassuming demeanor of my faction are supposed to make it easier for me to forget myself, and easier for everyone else to forget me too. But now they make me a target. Especially me, due to my…deformities.

I pause by a window in the HUL Wing and wait for the Dauntless to arrive. I do this every morning. At exactly 7:27, the Dauntless prove their bravery by jumping from a moving train and onto the grounds below.

My father calls the Dauntless "demons" and "hellions." They are pierced, tattooed, and black-clothed. Their primary purpose is to guard the fence that surrounds our city and to maintain order by any means necessary. But from what, I don't know.

They should perplex me. I should wonder what courage—which is the virtue they most value—has to do with a metal ring through your nostril, but instead my eyes cling to them wherever they go. Following their every move like a stalker.

The train whistle blares, the sound resonating in my chest and through the walls. The light fixed to the front of the train clicks on and off as the train hurtles past the school, squealing on its iron rails. And as the last few cars pass, a mass exodus of young men and women in dark clothing hurl themselves from the moving cars, some dropping and rolling, others stumbling a few steps before regaining their balance. One of the boys wraps his arm around a girl's shoulders, laughing.

Watching them is a foolish practice. I turn away from the window and press through the crowd to the Gifted Faction History classroom.


	3. The Test: Part 1

The first phase of the exam began after lunch. We sat at one of the long tables in the cafeteria, while the test administrators would call ten names at a time, one for each testing room. I sit next to Wendy and across from our neighbor Sherria.

Sherria's father travels throughout the allied city for his job, so he has a car and drives her to and from school every day. He offered to drive us, too, but as Wendy says, we prefer to leave later and would not want to inconvenience her.

Of course not. Abnegation do not burden others. But I do.

The test administrators are mostly Abnegation volunteers, although there is an Erudite in one of the testing rooms and a Dauntless in another to test those of us from Abnegation, because the rules state that we can't be tested by someone from our own faction. The rules also say that we can't prepare for the test in any way, so I don't know what to expect. No one does. And no one is allowed to tell us what to expect either.

My gaze drifts from Sherria to the Dauntless tables across the room. They are laughing and shouting and playing cards. At another set of tables, the Erudite chatter over books and newspapers, in constant pursuit of knowledge.

A group of Amity girls in yellow and red sit in a circle on the cafeteria floor, playing some kind of hand-slapping game involving a rhyming song and laughing when one of them messes up. Every few minutes I hear a chorus of laughter from them as someone is eliminated and has to sit in the center of the circle. At the table next to them, Candor boys make wide gestures with their hands. They appear to be arguing about something, but it must not be serious, because some of them are still smiling while others make strange accusations while gesturing wildly.

At the Abnegation table, we are all seated quietly and patiently wait to be called, everyone but me. Faction customs dictate even idle behavior and supersede individual preference. I doubt all the Erudite want to study all the time, or that every Candor enjoys a lively debate, but they can't defy the norms of their factions any more than I can, so I try my best to stop fiddling with the hem of my blouse or bite my fingernails, Wendy says it's a bad habit of mine.

Wendy's name is called in the next group. She moves confidently toward the exit. I don't need to wish her luck or assure her that she shouldn't be nervous. She knows where she belongs, and as far as I know, she always has. My earliest memory of her is from when we were four and six years old. She scolded me for not giving my jump rope to a little girl on the playground who didn't have anything to play with. She doesn't lecture me often anymore, but I have her look of disapproval memorized.

I have tried to explain to her that my instincts are not the same as hers—it didn't even enter my mind to give my seat to the Candor man on the bus—but she doesn't understand. "Just do what you're supposed to," she always says. If it is that easy for her. It should be that easy for me. key word: Should.

My stomach wrenches. I close my eyes and keep them closed until ten minutes later, when Wendy sits down again.

She is as pale as a sheet. She pushes her palms along her legs like I do when I wipe off sweat, and when she brings them back, her fingers quake. I open my mouth to ask her something, but the words don't come. I am not allowed to ask her about her results, and she is not allowed to tell me. Faction rules.

An Abnegation volunteer speaks the next round of names. Two from Dauntless, two from Erudite, two from Amity, two from Candor, and then: "From Abnegation: Sherria Blendy and Natsumi Dragneel."

I get up because I'm supposed to, but if it were up to me, I would stay in my seat for the rest of time, or until the test died out. I feel like there is a bubble in my chest that expands more by the second, threatening to break me apart from the inside. I follow Sherria to the exit. The people I pass can obviously tell us apart. We wear the same clothes and we wear our hair the same way yes, but Sherria might not feel like she's going to throw up, and from what I can tell, her hands aren't shaking so hard she has to clutch the hem of her shirt to steady them. And also the obvious body mass difference. Where I am voluptuous, petite, and pink, she is skinny, lanky, and blond.

Waiting for us outside the cafeteria is a row of ten rooms. They are used only for the aptitude tests, so I have never been in one before. Unlike the other rooms in the school, they are separated, not by steel walls, but by mirrors, some of colour some bleached white. I watch myself, tanned and terrified, walking toward one of the doors. Sherria grins nervously at me as she walks into room 5, and I walk into room 7, where a Dauntless woman waits for me.

She is not as severe-looking as the young Dauntless I have seen. She has small, light brown, angular eyes and she was wearing a black blazer—like a man's suit—and jeans. It's only when she turns to close the door that I see a tattoo on the back of her neck, a steel black dragon with a red eye wrapped around an iron pole. If I didn't feel like my heart had migrated to my throat, I would ask her what it signifies. It must signify something. Something so elaborate always does.

Mirrors cover the inner walls of the room. I can see my reflection from all angles: the gray fabric obscuring the shape of my back, my long neck, my knobby-knuckled hands, red with a blood blush. The ceiling glows white with light. In the center of the room is a reclined chair, like a dentist's, with a machine next to it. It looks like a place where terrible things happen. Things like death and miscarriage. I wonder if the test is painful?

"Don't worry," the woman says, "it doesn't hurt."

Her hair is a bright dodger blue and straight/wavy, but in the light I see that it is streaked with black with the tips a dark crimson.

"Have a seat and get comfortable," she says. "My name is Levy."

Clumsily I sit in the chair and recline, putting my head on the headrest. The lights hurt my eyes. Levy busies herself with the machine on my right. I try to focus on her and not on the wires in her hands, or what she plans to do with them.

"Why the dragon?" I blurt out as she attaches an electrode to my forehead.

"Never met a curious Abnegation before," she says, raising her eyebrows at me.

I shiver, and goose bumps appear on my arms. My curiosity is a mistake, a betrayal of Abnegation values. But then again, I never really was an Abnegation.

Humming a little, she presses another electrode to my forehead and explains, "In some parts of the ancient world, the dragon symbolized intelligence, magic, and ferocity. Back when I got it, I figured if I always had the dragon on me, I'd be strong. So I wouldn't be weak. Plus it reminds me of someone special."

I try to stop myself from asking another question, but I can't help it. "You're afraid of being weak?"

"I was afraid of my weakness," she corrects me. She presses the next electrode to her own forehead, and attaches a wire to it. She shrugs. "Now it reminds me of the fear I've overcome and of the person who helped me overcome that fear."

She stands behind me. I squeeze the armrests so tightly the redness pulls away from my knuckles. She tugs wires toward her, attaching them to me, to her, to the machine behind her. Then she passes me a vial of fluorescent blue liquid.

"Drink this," she says.

"What is it?" My throat feels swollen. I swallow. Hard. "What's going to happen?"

"Can't tell you that. Just trust me."

I press air from my lungs and tip the contents of the vial into my mouth. My eyes close.

When they open, an instant has passed, but I am somewhere else entirely. I stand in the school cafeteria again, but all the long tables are empty, and I see through the glass walls that it's snowing shades of blue and red. On one of the tables there is a book*. On another there is a knife*. On the last one, there is nothing*. Or so I presume. The moment I stop directly looking at the empty table, yellow wisps move like water through the air*. Suddenly, the wisps turn into the figure of a man*. The man is pale and dressed in a black robe. In some way he seems familiar*.

The man says, "Choose."

"Why? And who the heck are you?" I ask.

"Choose," he repeats.

"What will I do with them and why do you care?" I ask the man.

"Natsu, it's time to choose." he scolds.

When he scolds me, my fear disappears and stubbornness replaces it. I scowl and cross my arms, and give him the most heated glare I can muster. He meets my gaze as level as a calm sea. I am so distracted that I forget to ask how he knew my name.

He stares at me with a calm expression, but his eyes have so much emotion in them that I can't seem to keep my eyes on him. I look away in unease, and decide to stare beyond his form. I ask what my choice will signify and he only nods his head and with a wave of his arm as he smiles and says something in a foreign language, something like, "Natsu, nondum est tempus ut veritatem inquirat. Otouto crescere, et redde me fieri a familia iterum. In posterum tempus, Koibito. Aishiteru Natsu." or something of the sort. Shortly after his weird hand tricks, I am transported to the room where Levy gave me the vial. Instead of the chair, however, there is a single mirror and three doors. Each of the doors has the same insignia as the objects that were on the table.

I'm about to walk past the mirror when I see an image of my father tied to a chair with a gun aimed at him, of Wendy and Grandeeney crying in the corner yelling at me to stop and to "pick the book". *

I get another image of me as a vigilante, standing over the corpse of a child. This me ,or not me, looks at me and says, "Pick the knife, Natsumi. You know you want too."*

I get another vision of the same man as before. The same man appears in front of the door with the wisps. There is a dystopian society and people screaming behind him. The man looks up, and this time, instead of emotion filled eyes, his eyes hold some strange emotion I can't cipher along with guilt. When his eyes meet mine, he asks if I want to know the truth while extending a book to me*. Then the mirror shatters.

I am so surprised that I stumble backwards and fall on my rear. I manage to get up and look towards the doors once more. The book showed my family crying in a dark room, the knife showed an evil me, and the wisps showed me the same man from before. I don't know why, but I feel a tug in my gut leading me to the door with the wisps. Just as I place my hand on the door knob, the scenery changes once again.

This time, we are in the factionless sector of town. My family has visited the sector to hand out provisions to the factionless. It is also the place where we found Wendy*.

We were giving out provisions to the Factionless, like every other Monday, when a four year-old me heard some crying not too far away. I move away from my mother, though I know I'm not supposed to, and head over to where the nose originated from. I had expected to find someone crying over recently becoming factionless, due to the initiations occurring a few weeks prior, when I spot a child wrapped in some blankets near the street curb. I run over to the child before my mother can stop me, and hold the child in my stubby arms. By the time my parents and fation members find me, the little bundle has stopped crying and was holding onto me tightly. My mother pitying the poor creature, decided to adopt her, seeing as how she became barren after having me. I clearly remember on the walk back, my parents telling me that curiosity was a bad thing to have, when I saw a little tag hidden within the little bundle. It was a name tag, and on it there was only a name. That is the story of how we adopted Wendy. The perfect Abnegation.

I snap out of my reverie in time to notice that the sector has actually changed. Instead of an old run down abandoned area, there is a beautiful square with elaborate natural vegetation. In the middle there is a beautiful park, and in that park there is a man reading a newspaper. I decide to follow my instincts and head past the strangely normal man and towards a beautiful porcelain fountain in the middle. Right as I am about to pass the man, he grabs my hand and quickly whirls me around to face him. He shoves his newspaper in my face and demands to know if I know a certain man. I take a closer look at the newspaper and notice that it was the face of the man from before. I want to tell him the truth, but I feel as if I shouldn't.

"Why do you need to know?" I ask.

"Please, if you know about this man, you can help save my family, so please. Tell me everything you can."

I hesitate. "Yes I know him." I say. "But I'm afraid I don't know much about him sorry." I say hurriedly.

As I try to walk away again, he grabs my wrist and twists it painfully until my arm is bent behind my back. And I feel nothing but a sharp pain, and that sharp pain triggered something dormant within me. Suddenly, my dormant instincts come alive. I maneuver myself around him, grab the arm that was not holding my wrist, and roll him over my back and hip until I hear his back make contact on the ground with a thud. I maneuver my captured hand out of his hold and hold him in place via his neck. I feel a burning sensation in my right arm as I hold him in place.

The last thing I see is the horrified expression in his eyes, and the desperate plea for forgiveness. Then everything goes up in flames and in the distance, I hear a very dangerous, very prominent roar.

Then nothing.


	4. The Test: Part 2

I wake up as a nervous wreck, coughing, gasping for air, and convulsing all at the same time. I am lying in the chair in the mirrored room. When I tilt my head back, I see Levy behind me. She pinches her lips together as she removes electrodes from our heads. I wait for her to say something about the test—that it's over, or that I did well, although how could I do poorly on a test like this, or any really?—but she says nothing, just pulls the wires from my forehead in absolute silence.

I sit forward and wipe my palms off on my slacks. I must've done something wrong, even if it only happened in my mind. Is that strange look on Levy's face because she doesn't know how to tell me what a terrible person I am or how good I am? I wish she would just come out with it already.

"That," she says, "was perplexing. Excuse me, I'll be right back."

Perplexing? Wait what?

I bring my knees to my chest and bury my face in them. I wish I felt like crying, because the tears might bring me a sense of release, but I don't. I feel numb. Shocked. How are you supposed to pass a test you aren't allowed to prepare for? Like what the heck!

As time passes, I get more and more nervous. I have to wipe off my hands every few seconds as the sweat collects—or maybe I just do it because it helps me feel calmer, I don't know. What if they tell me that I'm not cut out for any faction? I would have to live on the streets, with the factionless. I can't do that. To live factionless is not just to live in poverty and discomfort; it is to live divorced from society, separated from the most important thing in life: community. Family. Duty. Awya from everything.

My mother told me once that we can't survive alone, but even if we could, we wouldn't want to. Without a faction, we have no purpose and no reason to live. No reason to exist. We would be a waste of air.

I shake my head. I can't think like this. I have to stay calm. I have to focus.

Finally the door opens, and Levy walks back in. I grip the arm rests of the chair.

"Sorry to worry you," Levy says. She stands by my feet with her hands in her pockets. She looks tense and pale. Well, paler.

"Natsumi, your results were inconclusive," she says. "Typically, each stage of the simulation eliminates one or more of the factions, but in your case, none have been disqualified."

I stare at her. "None?" I ask. My throat is so tight it's hard to talk. Or anything really.

"If you had shown an automatic distaste for the Knife and selected the book, the simulation would have led you to a different scenario that confirmed your aptitude for Erudite . That didn't happen, which is why Erudite is still active. But you didn't listen to the voice but you were somewhat kind and pitying to the man, so Amity stays." Levy scratches the back of her neck. "Normally, the simulation progresses in a linear fashion, isolating one faction by ruling out the rest. The choices you made didn't even allow Candor, the next possibility, to be ruled out, so I had to alter the simulation to put you in the Factionless sector. And there your insistence upon partial dishonesty that semi-ruled out Candor." She half smiles. "Don't worry about that. Only the true Candor tell the truth in that one."

One of the knots in my chest loosens. Maybe I'm not that much of an awful person.

"I suppose that's not entirely true. People who tell the truth are the Candor…and the Abnegation," she says. "Which gives us a problem."

My mouth falls open. And my heart breaks.

"On the one hand, you refused the book, which is Erudite, but you chose wisely so Erudite still counts. You didn't choose the knife which would have been Dauntless, but you argued with the voice, so Dauntless still stands. You told partial truth so Candor and Abnegation remains. You were kind and vicious to the man so Amity and Dauntless still stand.

She clears her throat and continues. "Your intelligent response to the doors indicates strong alignment with the Erudite. I have no idea what to make of your indecision in stage one, but—"

"Wait," I interrupt her. "So you have no idea what my aptitude is?"

"Yes and no. My conclusion," she explains, "is that you display equal aptitude for all Factions. People who get this kind of result are…" She looks over her shoulder like she expects someone to appear behind her. "…are called…Divergent." She whispers the last word so quietly that I almost don't hear it, and her tense, worried look returns. She walks around the side of the chair and leans in close to me.

"Natsumi," she says, "under no circumstances should you share that information with anyone. This is very important."

"We aren't supposed to share our results." I state. "I know that."

"No." Levy kneels next to the chair now and places her arms on the armrest. Our faces are inches apart. "This is different. I don't mean you shouldn't share them now; I mean you should never share them with anyone, ever, no matter what happens. Divergence is extremely dangerous. Do you understand?"

I don't understand—how could inconclusive test results be dangerous?—but I still nod. I don't want to share my test results with anyone anyway. Especially after this.

"Okay." I peel my hands from the arms of the chair and stand. I feel numb again.

"I suggest," Levy says, "that you go home. You have a lot of thinking to do, and waiting with the others may not benefit you at all."

"I have to tell my sister where I'm going."

"I'll let her know."

I touch my forehead and stare at the floor as I walk out of the room. I can't bear to look her in the eye. I can't bear to think about the Choosing Ceremony tomorrow. Or whatever my future may hold.

It's my choice now, no matter what the test says.

Abnegation. Dauntless. Erudite. Amity. Candor.

Divergent.

I decide not to take the bus. If I get home early, Igneel will notice when he checks the house log at the end of the day, and I'll have to explain what happened. Instead I decide to walk. I'll have to intercept Wendy before she mentions anything to our parents, but Wendy can keep a secret. I think.

I walk in the middle of the road. The buses tend to hug the curb, so it's safer here. Sometimes, on the streets near my house, I can see places where the yellow lines used to be. We have no use for them now that there are so few cars. We don't need stoplights, either, but in some places they dangle precariously over the road like they might crash down any minute on unsuspecting bystander.

Renovation moves slowly through the city, which is a patchwork of new, clean buildings and old, crumbling ones. Most of the new buildings are next to the marsh, which used to be a lake a long time ago. The Abnegation volunteer agency my mother works for is responsible for most of those renovations.

When I look at the Abnegation lifestyle as an outsider, I think it's beautiful. When I watch my family move in harmony; when we go to dinner parties and everyone cleans together afterward without having to be asked; when I see Wendy help strangers carry their groceries, I fall in love with this life all over again. It's only when I try to live it myself that I have trouble. It never feels real.

But choosing a different faction means I forsake my family.

Permanently.

Just past the Abnegation sector of the city is the stretch of building skeletons and broken sidewalks that I now walk through. There are places where the road has completely collapsed, revealing sewer systems and empty subways that I have to be careful to avoid, and places that stink so powerfully of waste and trash that I have to plug my nose.

This is where the factionless live. Because they failed to complete initiation into whatever faction they chose, they live in poverty, doing the work no one else wants to do. They are janitors and construction workers and garbage collectors; they make fabric and operate trains and drive buses. In return for their work they get food and clothing, but, as my mother says, not enough of any.

I see a factionless man standing on the corner up ahead. He wears ragged brown clothing and skin sags from his jaw. He stares at me, and I stare back at her, unable to look away.

"Excuse me," he says. His voice is raspy and dry. "Do you have something I can eat?"

I feel a lump in my throat. A stern voice in my head says, Duck your head and keep walking.

No. I say to that weird voice.. I should not be afraid of this man. He needs help and I am supposed to help him. That's what the ABnegation do.

"Um…yes," I say. I reach into my bag. Grandeeney tells me to keep food in my bag at all times for exactly this reason. I offer the man a small bag of dried apple slices and dried plantains.

He reaches for them, but instead of taking the bag, his hand closes around my wrist. He smiles at me. He has no front teeth.

"My, don't you have a pretty little body. It's a shame you Faction is so plain." He says.

My heart pounds. I tug my hand back, but his grip tightens. I smell something acrid and unpleasant on his breath. Alcohol.

"You look a little young to be walking around by yourself, dear," he croons.

I stop tugging, and stand up straighter. I know I look young; I don't need to be reminded. "I'm older than I look," I retort. "I'm sixteen."

His lips spread wide, revealing a gray molar with a dark pit in the side. I can't tell if he's smiling or grimacing. "Then isn't today a special day for you? The day before you choose, isn't it?"

"Let go of me," I say. I hear ringing in my ears. My voice sounds clear and stern—not what I expected to hear. I feel like it doesn't belong to me. Foreign.

I am ready. I know what to do. I picture myself bringing my elbow back and hitting him square in the jaw. I see the bag of apples flying away from me. I hear my running footsteps. I am prepared to act.

But then he releases my wrist, takes the apples and the plantains, and says, "Choose wisely, little girl."

I reach my street five minutes before I usually do, according to my watch—which is the only flashy accessory Abnegation allows, and only because it's practical. It has a gray band and a glass face. If I tilt it right, I can almost see my reflection over the hands. Almost.

The houses on my street are all the same size and shape. They are made of gray cement, with few windows, in economical, no-nonsense rectangles. Their lawns are crabgrass and their mailboxes are dull metal. To some the sight might be gloomy, but to me their simplicity is somewhat comforting.

The reason for the simplicity isn't disdain for uniqueness, as the other factions have sometimes interpreted it. Everything—our houses, our clothes, our hairstyles—is meant to help us forget ourselves and to protect us from vanity, greed, and envy, which are just forms of selfishness. If we have little, and want for little, and we are all equal, we envy no one.

I try to love it.

I sit on the front step and wait for Wendy to arrive. It doesn't take long. After a minute I see gray-robed forms walking down the street. I hear laughter. At school we try not to draw attention to ourselves, but once we're home, the games and jokes start. My natural tendency toward sarcasm is still not appreciated. Sarcasm is always at someone's expense. Maybe it's better that Abnegation wants me to suppress it. Maybe I don't have to leave my family. Maybe if I fight to make Abnegation work, my act will turn into reality. Maybe.

"Natsumi!" Wendy says. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She is with Sherria and her brother, Lyon, and Sherria is giving me a strange look, like I am a different person than the one she knew this morning. I shrug. "When the test was over, I got sick. Must have been that liquid they gave us. I feel better now, though."

I try to smile convincingly. I seem to have persuaded Sherria and Lyon, who no longer look concerned for my mental stability, but Wendy narrows her eyes at me, the way she does when she suspects someone of lying.

"Did you two take the bus today?" I ask. I don't care how Sherria and Lyon got home from school, but I need to change the subject, to keep me away from Wendy's questioning gaze.

"Our father had to work late," Sherria says, "and he told us we should spend some time thinking before the ceremony tomorrow."

My heart pounds at the mention of the ceremony.

"You're welcome to come over later, if you'd like," Wendy says politely.

"Thank you." Sherria smiles at Wendy.

Lyon raises an eyebrow at me. He and I have been exchanging looks for the past year as Sherria and Wendy flirt in the friendly/tentative way known only to the Abnegation. Wendy's eyes follow Sherria down the walk. I have to grab her arm to startle her from his daze. I lead her into the house and close the door behind us.

She turns to me. Her dark, straight eyebrows draw together so that a crease appears between them. When she frowns, she looks more like my mother than my father. In an instant I can see her living the same kind of life my father did: staying in Abnegation, learning a trade, marrying Lyon, and having a family. It will be wonderful.

I may not get to see it.

"Are you going to tell me the truth now?" she asks softly.

"The truth is," I say, "I'm not supposed to discuss it. And you're not supposed to ask." I scold.

"All those rules you bend, and you can't bend this one? Not even for something this important?" Her eyebrows tug together, and she bites the corner of her lip. Though her words are accusatory, it sounds like she is probing me for information—like she actually wants my answer.

I narrow my eyes. "Will you? What happened in your test, Wendy?"

Our eyes meet. I hear a train horn, so faint it could easily be wind whistling through an alleyway. But I know it when I hear it. It sounds like the Dauntless, calling me to them.

"Just…don't tell our parents what happened, okay?" I say.

Her eyes stay on mine for a few seconds, and then he nods.

I want to go upstairs and lie down. The test, the walk, and my encounter with the factionless man exhausted me. But my sister made breakfast this morning, and my mother prepared our lunches, and my father made dinner last night, so it's my turn to cook. I breathe deeply and walk into the kitchen to start cooking.

A minute later, Wendy joins me. I grit my teeth. She helps with everything. What irMirates me most about her is his natural goodness, her natural, inborn selflessness.

Wendy and I work together without speaking. I cook peas on the stove. She defrosts four pieces of chicken. Most of what we eat is frozen or canned, because farms these days are far away. My mother told me once that, a long time ago, there were people who wouldn't buy genetically engineered produce because they viewed it as unnatural. Now we have no other option.

By the time my parents get home, dinner is ready and the table is set. My father drops his bag at the door and kisses my head. Other people see him as an opinionated man—too opinionated, maybe—but he's also loving. I try to see only the good in him; I try.

"How did the test go?" he asks me. I pour the peas into a serving bowl.

"Fine," I say. I couldn't be Candor. I lie too easily.

"I heard there was some kind of upset with one of the tests," my mother says. Like my father, she works for the government, but she manages city improvement projects. She recruited volunteers to administer the aptitude tests. Most of the time, though, she organizes workers to help the factionless with food and shelter and job opportunities.

"Really?" says my father. A problem with the aptitude tests is rare.

"I don't know much about it, but my friend Erin told me that something went wrong with one of the tests, so the results had to be reported verbally." My mother places a napkin next to each plate on the table. "Apparently the student got sick and was sent home early." My mother shrugs. "I hope they're alright. Did you two hear about that?"

"No," Wendy says. She smiles at my mother.

My sister couldn't be Candor either.

We sit at the table. We always pass food to the right, and no one eats until everyone is served. My father extends his hands to my mother and my sister, and they extend their hands to her and me, and my father gives thanks to God for food and work and friends and family. Not every Abnegation family is religious, but my father says we should try not to see those differences because they will only divide us. I am not sure what to make of that.

"So," my mother says to my father. "Tell me about your day."

She takes my father's hand and moves her thumb in a small circle over his knuckles. I stare at their joined hands. My parents love each other, but they rarely show affection like this in front of us. They taught us that physical contact is powerful, so I have been wary of it since I was young.

"Tell me what's bothering you," she adds.

I stare at my plate. My mother's acute senses sometimes surprise me, but now they chide me. Why was I so focused on myself that I didn't notice his deep frown or his sagging posture?

"I had a difficult day at work," he says. "Well, really, it was Silver who had the difficult day. I shouldn't lay claim to it."

Silver is my father's coworker; they are both political leaders. The city is ruled by a council of fifty people, composed entirely of representatives from Abnegation, because our faction is regarded as incorruptible, due to our commitment to selflessness. Our leaders are selected by their peers for their impeccable character, moral fortitude, and leadership skills. Representatives from each of the other factions can speak in the meetings on behalf of a particular issue, but ultimately, the decision is the council's. And while the council technically makes decisions together, Silver is particularly influential.

It has been this way since the beginning of the great peace, when the factions were formed. I think the system persists because we're afraid of what might happen if it didn't: war.

"Is this about that report Acnologia released?" my mother says. Acnologia is Erudite's sole representative, selected based on her IQ score. My father complains about her often.

I look up. "A report?"

Wendy gives me a warning look. We aren't supposed to speak at the dinner table unless our parents ask us a direct question, and they usually don't. Our listening ears are a gift to them, my father says. They give us their listening ears after dinner, in the family room.

"Yes," my father says. His eyes narrow. "Those arrogant, self-righteous—" He stops and clears his throat. "Sorry. But she released a report attacking Silver's character."

I raise my eyebrows.

"What did it say?" I ask.

"Natsumi," Wendy says quietly.

I duck my head, turning my fork over and over and over until the warmth leaves my cheeks. I don't like to be chastised. Especially by my little sister.

"It said," my father says, "that Silver's violence and cruelty toward his son is the reason his son chose Dauntless instead of Abnegation."

Few people who are born into Abnegation choose to leave it. When they do, we remember. Two years ago, Silver's son, Gray, left us for the Dauntless, and Silver was devastated. Gray was his only child—and his only family, since his wife died giving birth to their second child. The infant died minutes later.

I never met Gray. He rarely attended community events and never joined his father at our house for dinner. My father often remarked that it was strange, but now it doesn't matter.

"Cruel? Silver?" My mother shakes her head. "That poor man. As if he needs to be reminded of his loss."

"Of his son's betrayal, you mean?" my father says coldly. "I shouldn't be surprised at this point. The Erudite have been attacking us with these reports for months. And this isn't the end. There will be more, I guarantee it."

I shouldn't speak again, but I can't help myself. I blurt out, "Why are they doing this?"

"Why don't you take this opportunity to listen to your father, Natsumi?" my mother says gently. It is phrased like a suggestion, not a command. I look across the table at Wendy, who has that look of disapproval in her eyes.

I stare at my peas. I am not sure I can live this life of obligation any longer. I am not good enough.

"You know why," my father says. "Because we have something they want. Valuing knowledge above all else results in a lust for power, and that leads men into dark and empty places. We should be thankful that we know better."

I nod. I know I will not choose Erudite, even though my test results suggested that I could. I am my father's child.

My parents clean up after dinner. They don't even let Wendy help them, because we're supposed to keep to ourselves tonight instead of gathering in the family room, so we can think about our results.

My family might be able to help me choose, if I could talk about my results. But I can't. Levy's warning whispers in my memory every time my resolve to keep my mouth shut falters.

Wendy and I climb the stairs and, at the top, when we divide to go to our separate bedrooms, she stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

"Natsumi," she says, looking sternly into my eyes. "We should think of our family." There is an edge to his voice. "But-but we must also think of ourselves."

For a moment I stare at her. I have never seen her think of herself, never heard her insist on anything but selflessness.

I am so startled by his comment that I just say what I am supposed to say: "The tests don't have to change our choices."

She smiles a little. "Don't they, though?"

She squeezes my shoulder and walks into her bedroom. I peer into her room and see an unmade bed and a stack of books on her desk. She closes the door. I wish I could tell her that we're going through the same thing. I wish I could speak to her like I want to instead of like I'm supposed to. But the idea of admitting that I need help is too much to bear, so I turn away.

I walk into my room, and when I close my door behind me, I realize that the decision might be simple. It will require a great act of selflessness to choose Abnegation, or a great act of courage to choose Dauntless, and maybe just choosing one over the other will prove that I belong. Tomorrow, those two qualities will struggle within me, and only one can win.


	5. The Test: Part 3

The bus that we take to get to the Choosing Ceremony is full of people in gray shirts and gray slacks. A pale ring of sunlight burns into the clouds like the end of a lit cigarette. I will never smoke one myself—they are closely tied to vanity—but a crowd of Candor smokes them in front of the building when we get off the bus.

I have to tilt my head back to see the top of the Hub, and even then, part of it disappears into the clouds. It is the tallest building in the city. I can see the lights on the two prongs on its roof from my bedroom window.

I follow my parents off the bus. Wendy seems calm, but so would I, if I knew what I was going to do. Instead I get the distinct impression that my heart will burst out of my chest any minute now, and I grab her arm to steady myself as I walk up the front steps.

The elevator is crowded, so my father volunteers to give a cluster of Amity our place. We climb the stairs instead, following her unquestioningly. We set an example for our fellow faction members, and soon the three of us are engulfed in the mass of gray fabric ascending cement stairs in the half light. I settle into their pace. The uniform pounding of feet in my ears and the homogeneity of the people around me makes me believe that I could choose this. I could be subsumed into Abnegation's hive mind, projecting always outward.

But then my legs get sore, and I struggle to breathe, and I am again distracted by myself. We have to climb twenty flights of stairs to get to the Choosing Ceremony.

My father holds the door open on the twentieth floor and stands like a sentry as every Abnegation walks past him. I would wait for him, but the crowd presses me forward, out of the stairwell and into the room where I will decide the rest of my life.

The room is arranged in concentric circles. On the edges stand the eighteen-year-olds of every faction. We are not called members yet; our decisions today will make us initiates, and we will become members if we complete initiation.

We arrange ourselves in alphabetical order, according to the last names we may leave behind today. I stand between Wendy and Danielle Pohler, an Amity girl with rosy cheeks and a yellow dress.

Rows of chairs for our families make up the next circle. They are arranged in five sections, according to faction. Not everyone in each faction comes to the Choosing Ceremony, but enough of them come that the crowd looks huge.

The responsibility to conduct the ceremony rotates from faction to faction each year, and this year is Abnegation's. Silver will give the opening address and read the names in reverse alphabetical order. Wendy will choose before me.

In the last circle are five metal bowls so large they could hold my entire body, if I curled up. Each one contains a substance that represents each faction: gray stones for Abnegation, water for Erudite, earth for Amity, lit coals for Dauntless, and glass for Candor.

When Silver calls my name, I will walk to the center of the three circles. I will not speak. He will offer me a knife. I will cut into my hand and sprinkle my blood into the bowl of the faction I choose.

My blood on the stones. My blood sizzling on the coals.

Before my parents sit down, they stand in front of Wendy and me. My father kisses my forehead and claps Wendy on the shoulder, grinning.

"See you soon," he says. Without a trace of doubt.

My mother hugs me, and what little resolve I have left almost breaks. I clench my jaw and stare up at the ceiling, where globe lanterns hang and fill the room with blue light. She holds me for what feels like a long time, even after I let my hands fall. Before she pulls away, she turns her head and whispers in my ear, "I love you. No matter what you choose."

I frown at her back as she walks away. She knows what I might do. She must know, or she wouldn't feel the need to say that.

Wendy grabs my hand, squeezing my palm so tightly it hurts, but I don't let go. The last time we held hands was at my uncle's funeral, as my father cried. We need each other's strength now, just as we did then.

The room slowly comes to order. I should be observing the Dauntless; I should be taking in as much information as I can, but I can only stare at the lanterns across the room. I try to lose myself in the blue glow.

Silver stands at the podium between the Erudite and the Dauntless and clears his throat into the microphone. "Welcome," he says. "Welcome to the Choosing Ceremony. Welcome to the day we honor the democratic philosophy of our ancestors, which tells us that every man has the right to choose his own way in this world."

Or, it occurs to me, one of five predetermined ways. I squeeze Wendy's fingers as hard as she is squeezing mine.

"Our dependents are now eighteen. They stand on the precipice of adulthood, and it is now up to them to decide what kind of people they will be." Silver's voice is solemn and gives equal weight to each word. "Decades ago our ancestors realized that it is not political ideology, religious belief, race, or nationalism that is to blame for a warring world. Rather, they determined that it was the fault of human personality—of humankind's inclination toward evil, in whatever form that is. They divided into factions that sought to eradicate those qualities they believed responsible for the world's disarray."

My eyes shift to the bowls in the center of the room. What do I believe? I do not know; I do not know; I do not know.

"Those who blamed aggression formed Amity."

The Amity exchange smiles. They are dressed comfortably, in red or yellow. Every time I see them, they seem kind, loving, free. But joining them has never been an option for me.

"Those who blamed ignorance became the Erudite."

Ruling out Erudite was the only part of my choice that was easy.

"Those who blamed duplicity created Candor."

I have never liked Candor.

"Those who blamed selfishness made Abnegation."

I blame selfishness; I do.

"And those who blamed cowardice were the Dauntless."

But I am not selfless enough. Sixteen years of trying and I am not enough.

My legs go numb, like all the life has gone out of them, and I wonder how I will walk when my name is called.

"Working together, these five factions have lived in peace for many years, each contributing to a different sector of society. Abnegation has fulfilled our need for selfless leaders in government; Candor has provided us with trustworthy and sound leaders in law; Erudite has supplied us with intelligent teachers and researchers; Amity has given us understanding counselors and caretakers; and Dauntless provides us with protection from threats both within and without. But the reach of each faction is not limited to these areas. We give one another far more than can be adequately summarized. In our factions, we find meaning, we find purpose, we find life."

I think of the motto I read in my Faction History textbook: Faction before blood. More than family, our factions are where we belong. Can that possibly be right?

Silver adds, "Apart from them, we would not survive."

The silence that follows his words is heavier than other silences. It is heavy with our worst fear, greater even than the fear of death: to be factionless.

Silver continues, "Therefore this day marks a happy occasion—the day on which we receive our new initiates, who will work with us toward a better society and a better world."

A round of applause. It sounds muffled. I try to stand completely still, because if my knees are locked and my body is stiff, I don't shake. Silver reads the first names, but I can't tell one syllable from the other. How will I know when he calls my name?

One by one, each eighteen-year-old steps out of line and walks to the middle of the room. The first girl to choose decides on Amity, the same faction from which she came. I watch her blood droplets fall on soil, and she stands behind their seats alone.

The room is constantly moving, a new name and a new person choosing, a new knife and a new choice. I recognize most of them, but I doubt they know me.

"James Tucker," Silver says.

James Tucker of the Dauntless is the first person to stumble on his way to the bowls. He throws his arms out and regains his balance before hitting the floor. His face turns red and he walks fast to the middle of the room. When he stands in the center, he looks from the Dauntless bowl to the Candor bowl—the orange flames that rise higher each moment, and the glass reflecting blue light.

Silver offers him the knife. He breathes deeply—I watch his chest rise—and, as he exhales, accepts the knife. Then he drags it across his palm with a jerk and holds his arm out to the side. His blood falls onto glass, and he is the first of us to switch factions. The first faction transfer. A mutter rises from the Dauntless section, and I stare at the floor.

They will see him as a traitor from now on. His Dauntless family will have the option of visiting him in his new faction, a week and a half from now on Visiting Day, but they won't, because he left them. His absence will haunt their hallways, and he will be a space they can't fill. And then time will pass, and the hole will be gone, like when an organ is removed and the body's fluids flow into the space it leaves. Humans can't tolerate emptiness for long.

"Wendy Marvel," says Silver.

Wendy squeezes my hand one last time, and as she walks away, casts a long look at me over her shoulder. I watch her feet move to the center of the room, and her hands, steady as they accept the knife from Silver, are deft as one presses the knife into the other. Then she stands with blood pooling in her palm, and her lip snags on her teeth.

She breathes out. And then in. And then she holds her hand over the Erudite bowl, and her blood drips into the water, turning it a deeper shade of red.

I hear mutters that lift into outraged cries. I can barely think straight. My sister, my selfless sister, a faction transfer? My sister, born for Abnegation, Erudite?

When I close my eyes, I see the stack of books on Wendy's desk, and her shaking hands sliding along her legs after the aptitude test. Why didn't I realize that when she told me to think of myself yesterday, she was also giving that advice to herself?

I scan the crowd of the Erudite—they wear smug smiles and nudge each other. The Abnegation, normally so placid, speak to one another in tense whispers and glare across the room at the faction that has become our enemy.

"Excuse me," says Silver, but the crowd doesn't hear him. He shouts, "Quiet, please!"

The room goes silent. Except for a ringing sound.

I hear my name and a shudder propels me forward. Halfway to the bowls, I am sure that I will choose Abnegation. I can see it now. I watch myself grow into a woman in Abnegation robes, marrying Sherria's brother, Lyon, volunteering on the weekends, the peace of routine, the quiet nights spent in front of the fireplace, the certainty that I will be safe, and if not good enough, better than I am now.

The ringing, I realize, is in my ears.

I look at Wendy, who now stands behind the Erudite. He stares back at me and nods a little, like he knows what I'm thinking, and agrees. My footsteps falter. If Wendy wasn't fit for Abnegation, how can I be? But what choice do I have, now that he left us and I'm the only one who remains? She left me no other option.

I set my jaw. I will be the child that stays; I have to do this for my parents. I have to.

Silver offers me my knife. I look into his eyes—they are dark blue, a strange color—and take it. He nods, and I turn toward the bowls. Dauntless fire and Abnegation stones are both on my left, one in front of my shoulder and one behind. I hold the knife in my right hand and touch the blade to my palm. Gritting my teeth, I drag the blade down. It stings, but I barely notice. I hold both hands to my chest, and my next breath shudders on the way out.

I open my eyes and thrust my arm out. My blood drips onto the carpet between the two bowls. Then, with a gasp I can't contain, I shift my hand forward, and my blood sizzles on the coals.

I am selfish. I am brave.

I am Dauntless.

I train my eyes on the floor and stand behind the Dauntless-born initiates who chose to return to their own faction. They are all taller than I am, so even when I lift my head, I see only black-clothed shoulders. When the last girl makes her choice—Amity—it's time to leave. The Dauntless exit first. I walk past the gray-clothed men and women who were my faction, staring determinedly at the back of someone's head.

But I have to see my parents one more time. I look over my shoulder at the last second before I pass them, and immediately wish I hadn't. My father's eyes burn into mine with a look of accusation. At first, when I feel the heat behind my eyes, I think he's found a way to set me on fire, to punish me for what I've done, but no—I'm about to cry.

Beside him, my mother is smiling.

The people behind me press me forward, away from my family, who will be the last ones to leave. They may even stay to stack the chairs and clean the bowls. I twist my head around to find Wendy in the crowd of Erudite behind me. She stands among the other initiates, shaking hands with a faction transfer, a boy who was Candor. The easy smile she wears is an act of betrayal. My stomach wrenches and I turn away. If it's so easy for her, maybe it should be easy for me, too.

I glance at the boy to my left, who was Erudite and now looks as pale and nervous as I should feel. I spent all my time worrying about which faction I would choose and never considered what would happen if I chose Dauntless. What waits for me at Dauntless headquarters?

The crowd of Dauntless leading us go to the stairs instead of the elevators. I thought only the Abnegation used the stairs.

Then everyone starts running. I hear whoops and shouts and laughter all around me, and dozens of thundering feet moving at different rhythms. It is not a selfless act for the Dauntless to take the stairs; it is a wild act.

"What the hell is going on?" the boy next to me shouts.

I just shake my head and keep running. I am breathless when we reach the first floor, and the Dauntless burst through the exit. Outside, the air is crisp and cold and the sky is orange from the setting sun. It reflects off the black glass of the Hub.

The Dauntless sprawl across the street, blocking the path of a bus, and I sprint to catch up to the back of the crowd. My confusion dissipates as I run. I have not run anywhere in a long time. Abnegation discourages anything done strictly for my own enjoyment, and that is what this is: my lungs burning, my muscles aching, the fierce pleasure of a flat-out sprint. I follow the Dauntless down the street and around the corner and hear a familiar sound: the train horn.

"Oh no," mumbles the Erudite boy. "Are we supposed to hop on that thing?"

"Yes," I say, breathless.

It is good that I spent so much time watching the Dauntless arrive at school. The crowd spreads out in a long line. The train glides toward us on steel rails, its light flashing, its horn blaring. The door of each car is open, waiting for the Dauntless to pile in, and they do, group by group, until only the new initiates are left. The Dauntless-born initiates are used to doing this by now, so in a second it's just faction transfers left.

I step forward with a few others and start jogging. We run with the car for a few steps and then throw ourselves sideways. I'm not as tall or as strong as some of them, so I can't pull myself into the car. I cling to a handle next to the doorway, my shoulder slamming into the car. My arms shake, and finally a Candor girl grabs me and pulls me in. Gasping, I thank her.

I hear a shout and look over my shoulder. A short Erudite boy with red hair pumps his arms as he tries to catch up to the train. An Erudite girl by the door reaches out to grab the boy's hand, straining, but he is too far behind. He falls to his knees next to the tracks as we sail away, and puts his head in his hands.

I feel uneasy. He just failed Dauntless initiation. He is factionless now. It could happen at any moment.

"You all right?" the Candor girl who helped me asks briskly. She is tall, with light Blond hair and brown eyes. Pretty.

I nod.

"I'm Lucy," she says, offering me her hand.

I haven't shaken a hand in a long time either. The Abnegation greeted one another by bowing heads, a sign of respect. I take her hand, uncertainly, and shake it twice, hoping I didn't squeeze too hard or not hard enough.

"Natsumi," I say.

"Do you know where we're going?" She has to shout over the wind, which blows harder through the open doors by the second. The train is picking up speed. I sit down. It will be easier to keep my balance if I'm low to the ground. She raises an eyebrow at me.

"A fast train means wind," I say. "Wind means falling out. Get down."

Lucy sits next to me, inching back to lean against the wall.

"I guess we're going to Dauntless headquarters," I say, "but I don't know where that is."

"Does anyone?" She shakes her head, grinning. "It's like they just popped out of a hole in the ground or something."

Then the wind rushes through the car, and the other faction transfers, hit with bursts of air, fall on top of one another. I watch Lucy laugh without hearing her and manage a smile.

Over my left shoulder, orange light from the setting sun reflects off the glass buildings, and I can faintly see the rows of gray houses that used to be my home.

It's Wendy's turn to make dinner tonight. Who will take her place—my mother or my father? And when they clear out her room, what will they discover? I imagine books jammed between the dresser and the wall, books under her mattress. The Erudite thirst for knowledge filling all the hidden places in her room. Did she always know that she would choose Erudite? And if she did, how did I not notice?

What a good actor she was. The thought makes me sick to my stomach, because even though I left them too, at least I was no good at pretending. At least they all knew that I wasn't selfless.

I close my eyes and picture my mother and father sitting at the dinner table in silence. Is it a lingering hint of selflessness that makes my throat tighten at the thought of them, or is it selfishness, because I know I will never be their daughter again?

"They're jumping off!"

I lift my head. My neck aches. I have been curled up with my back against the wall for at least a half hour, listening to the roaring wind and watching the city smear past us. I sit forward. The train has slowed down in the past few minutes, and I see that the boy who shouted is right: The Dauntless in the cars ahead of us are jumping out as the train passes a rooftop. The tracks are eleven stories up.

The idea of leaping out of a moving train onto a rooftop, knowing there is a gap between the edge of the roof and the edge of the track, makes me want to throw up. I push myself up and stumble to the opposite side of the car, where the other faction transfers stand in a line.

"We have to jump off too, then," an Erudite boy says. He has blue hair, and a tattooed eyes.

"Great," a Candor boy replies, "because that makes perfect sense, Jellal . Leap off a train onto a roof."

"This is kind of what we signed up for, Pereus," the boy points out.

"Well, I'm not doing it," says an Amity boy behind me. He has olive skin and wears a brown shirt—he is the only transfer from Amity. His cheeks shine with tears.

"You've got to," Lucy says, "or you fail. Come on, it'll be alright."

"No, it won't! I'd rather be factionless than dead!" The Amity boy shakes his head. He sounds panicky. He keeps shaking his head and staring at the rooftop, which is getting closer by the second.

I don't agree with him. I would rather be dead than empty, like the factionless.

"You can't force him," I say, glancing at Lucy. Her brown eyes are wide, and she presses her lips together so hard they change color. She offers me her hand.

"Here," she says. I raise an eyebrow at her hand, about to say that I don't need help, but she adds, "I just…can't do it unless someone drags me."

I take her hand and we stand at the edge of the car. As it passes the roof, I count, "One…two…three!"

On three we launch off the train car. A weightless moment, and then my feet slam into solid ground and pain prickles through my shins. The jarring landing sends me sprawling on the rooftop, gravel under my cheek. I release Lucy's both laughing.

"That was fun," she says.

Lucy will fit in with Dauntless thrill seekers. I brush grains of rock from my cheek. All the initiates except the Amity boy made it onto the roof, with varying levels of success. The Candor boy, Jellal, holds his ankle, wincing, and Pereus, the Candor boy with shiny blond hair, grins proudly—he must have landed on his feet.

Then I hear a wail. I turn my head, searching for the source of the sound. A Dauntless girl stands at the edge of the roof, staring at the ground below, screaming. Behind her a Dauntless boy holds her at the waist to keep her from falling off.

"Mira," he says. "Mira, calm down. Mira—"

I stand and look over the edge. There is a body on the pavement below us; a girl, her arms and legs bent at awkward angles, her hair spread in a fan around her head. My stomach sinks and I stare at the railroad tracks. Not everyone made it. And even the Dauntless aren't safe.

Mira sinks to her knees, sobbing. I turn away. The longer I watch her, the more likely I am to cry, and I can't cry in front of these people.

I tell myself, as sternly as possible, that is how things work here. We do dangerous things and people die. People die, and we move on to the next dangerous thing. The sooner that lesson sinks in, the better chance I have at surviving initiation.

I'm no longer sure that I will survive initiation.

I tell myself I will count to three, and when I'm done, I will move on. One. I picture the girl's body on the pavement, and a shudder goes through me. Two. I hear Mira's sobs and the murmured reassurance of the boy behind her. Three.

My lips pursed, I walk away from Mira and the roof's edge.

My elbow stings. I pull my sleeve up to examine it, my hand shaking. Some of the skin is peeling off, but it isn't bleeding.

"Ooh. Scandalous! A Stiff's flashing some skin!"

I lift my head. "Stiff" is slang for Abnegation, and I'm the only one here. Pereus points at me, smirking. I hear laughter. My cheeks heat up, and I let my sleeve fall.

"Listen up! My name is Laxus! I am one of the leaders of your new faction!" shouts a man at the other end of the roof. He is older than the others, with deep creases in his tanned skin and blond hair at his temples, and he stands on the ledge like it's a sidewalk. Like someone didn't just fall to her death from it. "Several stories below us is the members' entrance to our compound. If you can't muster the will to jump off, you don't belong here. Our initiates have the privilege of going first."

"You want us to jump off a ledge?" asks an Erudite girl. She is a few inches taller than I am, with mousy brown hair and big lips. Her mouth hangs open.

I don't know why it shocks her.

"Yes," Laxus says. He looks amused.

"Is there water at the bottom or something?"

"Who knows?" He raises his eyebrows.

The crowd in front of the initiates splits in half, making a wide path for us. I look around. No one looks eager to leap off the building—their eyes are everywhere but on Laxus. Some of them nurse minor wounds or brush gravel from their clothes. I glance at Pereus. He is picking at one of his cuticles. Trying to act casual.

I am proud. It will get me into trouble someday, but today it makes me brave. I walk toward the ledge and hear snickers behind me.

Laxus steps aside, leaving my way clear. I walk up to the edge and look down. Wind whips through my clothes, making the fabric snap. The building I'm on forms one side of a square with three other buildings. In the center of the square is a huge hole in the concrete. I can't see what's at the bottom of it.

This is a scare tactic. I will land safely at the bottom. That knowledge is the only thing that helps me step onto the ledge. My teeth chatter. I can't back down now. Not with all the people betting I'll fail behind me. My hands fumble along the collar of my shirt and find the button that secures it shut. After a few tries, I undo the hooks from collar to hem, and pull it off my shoulders.

Beneath it, I wear a gray T-shirt. It is tighter than any other clothes I own, and no one has ever seen me in it before. I ball up my outer shirt and look over my shoulder, at Pereus. I throw the ball of fabric at him as hard as I can, my jaw clenched. It hits him in the chest. He stares at me. I hear catcalls and shouts behind me, all directed towards my mounded areas.

I look at the hole again. Goose bumps rise on my pale arms, and my stomach lurches. If I don't do it now, I won't be able to do it at all. I swallow hard.

I don't think. I just bend my knees and jump.

The air howls in my ears as the ground surges toward me, growing and expanding, or I surge toward the ground, my heart pounding so fast it hurts, every muscle in my body tensing as the falling sensation drags at my stomach. The hole surrounds me and I drop into darkness.

I hit something hard. It gives way beneath me and cradles my body. The impact knocks the wind out of me and I wheeze, struggling to breathe again. My arms and legs sting.

A net. There is a net at the bottom of the hole. I look up at the building and laugh, half relieved and half hysterical. My body shakes and I cover my face with my hands. I just jumped off a roof.

I have to stand on solid ground again. I see a few hands stretching out to me at the edge of the net, so I grab the first one I can reach and pull myself across. I roll off, and I would have fallen face-first onto a wood floor if he had not caught me.

"He" is the young man attached to the hand I grabbed. He has a spare upper lip and a full lower lip. His eyes are so deep-set that his eyelashes touch the skin under his eyebrows, and they are dark blue, a dreaming, sleeping, waiting color.

His hands grip my arms, but he releases me a moment after I stand upright again.

"Thank you," I say.

We stand on a platform ten feet above the ground. Around us is an open cavern.

"Can't believe it," a voice says from behind him. It belongs to a dark-haired girl with three silver rings through her right eyebrow. She smirks at me. "A Stiff, the first to jump? Unheard of."

"There's a reason why she left them, Ultear," he says. His voice is deep, and it rumbles. "What's your name?"

"Um…" I don't know why I hesitate. But "Natsumi" just doesn't sound right anymore.

"Think about it," he says, a faint smile curling his lips. "You don't get to pick again."

A new place, a new name. I can be remade here. A brand new start.

"Natsu," I say firmly.

"Natsu," Ultear repeats, grinning. "Make the announcement, Frost."

The boy—Frost—looks over his shoulder and shouts, "First jumper—Natsu!"

A crowd materializes from the darkness as my eyes adjust. They cheer and pump their fists, and then another person drops into the net. Her screams follow her down. Lucy. Everyone laughs, but they follow their laughter with more cheering.

Frost sets his hand on my back and says, "Welcome to Dauntless."

 

Okay, Wendy is 14 and Natsu is 16. The actual age for the testing is 18. Both Natsu and Wendy are somewhat prodigies. Thank you for reading. R&R plz.


	6. Welcome to Hell

When every initiate was on solid ground again, Ultear and Frost lead us down a narrow tunnel. The walls are made of marble and stone, and the ceiling slopes, so I feel like I am descending deep into the heart of the earth, towards the Earth's core. The tunnel is lit at long intervals with red and blue lanterns, so in the dark space between each dim lamp, I fear that I am lost until a shoulder bumps mine. In the circles of light I am safe again. The Erudite boy in front of me stops abruptly, and I smack into him, hitting my nose on his shoulder. I mumble an apology. I stumble back and rub my nose as I recover my senses. The whole crowd has stopped, and our three leaders stand in front of us, arms folded before a crossroads.

"This is where we divide," Ultear says. "The Dauntless-born initiates are with me. I assume you don't need a tour of the place."

She smiles and beckons toward the Dauntless-born initiates. They break away from the group and dissolve into the shadows. I watch the last heel pass out of the light and look at those of us who are left. Most of the initiates were from Dauntless, so only nine people remain. Of those, I am the only Abnegation transfer, and there are no Amity. The rest are from Erudite and, surprisingly, the Candor. It must require bravery to be honest all the time. I wouldn't know. I never am.

Frost addresses us next. "Most of the time I work in the control room, but for the next few weeks, I am your instructor," he says. "My name is Frost."

Lucy asks, "Frost? Like the type of ice?"

"Yes," Frost says. "Is there a problem?"

"No."

"Good. We're about to go into the Pit, which you will someday learn to love. It—"

Lucy snickers. "The Pit? Clever name dontcha think Natsu." She whispers to me. But not quiet enough, because Frost overhears us.

Frost walks up to Lucy and leans his face close to hers. His eyes narrow, and for a second he just stares at her.

"What's your name?" he asks quietly.

"Lucy," she squeaks.

"Well, Lucy, if I wanted to put up with Candor smart-mouths, I would have joined their faction," he hisses. "The first lesson you'll learn from me is to keep your mouth shut. Got that plebe?"

She nods.

Frost starts toward the shadow at the end of the tunnel. The crowd of initiates moves on in silence.

"What a jerk," she mumbles.

"I guess he doesn't like to be laughed at," I reply.

It would probably be wise to be careful around Frost, I realize. He seemed placid to me on the platform, but something about that stillness makes me wary now. As if he is a blizzard about to occur on an unsuspecting town.

Frost pushes a set of double doors open, and we walk into the place he called "the Pit."

"Oh," whispers Lucy. "I get it. Why they call it the pit."

"Pit" is the best word for it. It is an underground cavern so huge I can't see the other end of it from where I stand, at the bottom. Uneven rock walls rise several sLevyes above my head. Built into the stone walls are places for food, clothing, supplies, leisure activities. Narrow paths and steps carved from rock connect them. There are no barriers to keep people from falling over the side. I wonder what happens if someone falls. If there is a net down there as well.

A slant of blue light stretches across one of the rock walls. Forming the roof of the Pit are panes of stained glass and, above them, a building that lets in sunlight. It must have looked like just another city building when we passed it on the train.

Blue lanterns dangle at random intervals above the stone paths, similar to the ones that lit the Choosing room. They grow brighter as the sunlight dies.

People are everywhere, all dressed in black, all shouting and talking, expressive, gesturing. I don't see any elderly people in the crowd. Are there any old Dauntless? Do they not last that long, or are they just sent away when they can't jump off moving trains anymore?

A group of children run down a narrow path with no railing, so fast my heart pounds, and I want to scream at them to slow down before they get hurt. A memory of the orderly Abnegation streets appears in my mind: a line of people on the right passing a line of people on the left, small smiles and inclined heads and silence. My stomach squeezes. But there is something wonderful about Dauntless chaos.

"If you follow me, and if no one interrupts" says Frost, "I'll show you the chasm."

He waves us forward. Frost's appearance seems tame from the front, by Dauntless standards, but when he turns around, I see a tattoo peeking out from the collar of his T-shirt. He leads us to the right side of the Pit, which is conspicuously dark. I squint and see that the floor I stand on now ends at an iron barrier. As we approach the railing, I hear a roar—water, fast-moving water, crashing against rocks, untamed and unrelenting.

I look over the side. The floor drops off at a sharp angle, and several sLevyes below us is a river. Gushing water strikes the wall beneath me and sprays upward. To my left, the water is calmer, but to my right, it is white, battling with rock.

"The chasm reminds us that there is a fine line between bravery and stupidity!" Frost shouts. "A daredevil jump off this ledge will end your life. It has happened before and it will happen again. You've been warned."

"This is incredible," says Lucy, as we all move away from the railing.

"Incredible is an understatement," I say, nodding.

Frost leads the group of initiates across the Pit toward a gaping hole in the wall. The room beyond is well-lit enough that I can see where we're going: a mess hall full of people and clattering silverware. When we walk in, the Dauntless inside stand. They applaud. They stamp their feet. They shout. The noise surrounds me and fills me. Lucy smiles, and a second later, so do I.

We look for empty seats. Lucy and I discover a mostly empty table at the side of the room, and I find myself sandwiched between her and Frost. In the center of the table is a platter of food I don't recognize: circular pieces of meat wedged between round bread slices with some types of red sauce and white cream at the side. I pinch one between my fingers, unsure what to make of it or the sauce.

Frost nudges me with his elbow.

"It's beef," he says. "Put this on it." He passes me a small bowl full of the red sauce.

"You've never had a hamburger before?" asks Lucy, her eyes wide.

"No," I say. "Is that what it's called?"

"Stiffs eat plain food," Frost says, nodding at Lucy.

"Why?" she asks.

I shrug. "Extravagance is considered self-indulgent and unnecessary."

She smirks. "No wonder you left."

"Yeah," I say, rolling my eyes. "It was just because of the plain food."

In the corner of my eye, I see Frost's mouth twitch.

The doors to the cafeteria open, and a hush falls over the room. I look over my shoulder. A young man walks in, and it is quiet enough that I can hear his footsteps. His face is pierced in so many places I lose count, and his hair is long, dark, and greasy. But that isn't what makes him look menacing. It is the coldness of his red eyes as they sweep across the room.

"Who's that?" hisses Lucy.

"His name is Gajeel," says Frost. "He's a Dauntless leader."

"Seriously? But he's so young."

Frost gives her a grave look. "Age doesn't matter here."

I can tell she's about to ask what I want to ask: Then what does matter? But Gajeel's eyes stop scanning the room, and he starts toward a table. He starts toward our table and drops into the seat next to Frost. He offers no greeting, so neither do we.

"Well, aren't you going to introduce me?" he asks, nodding to Lucy and me.

Frost says, "This is Natsu and Lucy."

"Ooh, a Stiff," says Gajeel, smirking at me. His smile pulls at the piercings in his lips, making the holes they occupy wider, and I wince. "We'll see how long you last."

"I'll last. I haven't died yet, right?" I challenge.

Gajeel looks me over once more and snorts.

He taps his fingers against the table. His knuckles are scabbed over, right where they would split if he punched something too hard.

"What have you been doing lately, Frost?" he asks.

Frost lifts a shoulder. "Nothing, really," he says.

Are they friends? My eyes flick between Gajeel and Frost. Everything Gajeel did—sitting here, asking about Frost—suggests that they are, but the way Frost sits, tense as pulled wire, suggests they are something else. Rivals, maybe, but how could that be, if Gajeel is a leader and Frost is not?

"Laxus tells me he keeps trying to meet with you, and you don't show up," Gajeel says. "He requested that I find out what's going on with you."

Frost looks at Gajeel for a few seconds before saying, "Tell him that I am satisfied with the position I currently hold."

"So he wants to give you a job and you refused."

The rings in Gajeel's eyebrow catch the light. Maybe Gajeel perceives Frost as a potential threat to his position. My father says that those who want power and get it live in terror of losing it. That's why we have to give power to those who do not want it.

"So it would seem," Frost says.

"And you aren't interested."

"I haven't been interested for two years."

"Well," says Gajeel. "Let's hope he gets the point, then."

He claps Frost on the shoulder, a little too hard, and gets up. When he walks away, I slouch immediately. I had not realized that I was so tense.

"Are you two…friends?" I say, unable to contain my curiosity.

"We were in the same initiate class," he says. "He transferred from Erudite."

All thoughts of being careful around Frost leave me. "Were you a transfer too?"

"I thought I would only have trouble with the Candor asking too many questions," he says coldly. "Now I've got Stiffs, too?"

"It must be because you're so approachable," I say flatly. "You know. Like a bed of nails. Or a glacier." I counter.

He stares at me, and I don't look away. He isn't a dog, nor is he the man from the test, but the same rules apply. Looking away is submissive. Looking him in the eye is a challenge. It's my choice.

Heat rushes into my cheeks. What will happen when this tension breaks?

But he just says, "Careful, Natsu."

My stomach drops like I just swallowed a stone. A Dauntless member at another table calls out Frost's name, and I turn to Lucy. She raises both eyebrows.

"What?" I ask.

"I'm developing a theory."

"And it would be?"

She picks up her hamburger, grins, and says, "That you have a death wish."

After dinner, Frost disappears without a word. Gajeel leads us down a series of hallways without telling us where we're going. I don't know why a Dauntless leader would be responsible for a group of initiates, but maybe it is just for tonight.

At the end of each hallway is a blue lamp, but between them it's dark, and I have to be careful not to stumble over uneven ground. Lucy walks beside me in silence. No one told us to be quiet, but none of us speak.

Gajeel stops in front of a wooden door and folds his arms. We gather around him.

"For those of you who don't know, my name is Gajeel," he says. "I am one of five leaders of the Dauntless. We take the initiation process very seriously here, so I volunteered to oversee most of your training."

The thought makes me nauseous. The idea that a Dauntless leader will oversee our initiation is bad enough, but the fact that it's Gajeel makes it seem even worse.

"Some ground rules," he says. "You have to be in the training room by eight o'clock every day. Training takes place every day from eight to six, with a break for lunch. You are free to do whatever you like after six. You'll also get some time off between each stage of initiation."

The phrase "do whatever you like" sticks in my mind. At home, I could never do what I wanted, not even for an evening. I had to think of other people's needs first. I don't even know what I like to do. it has been so long after all.

"You are only permitted to leave the compound when accompanied by a Dauntless," Gajeel adds. "Behind this door is the room where you will be sleeping for the next few weeks. You'll notice that there are ten beds and only nine of you. We anticipated that a higher proportion of you would make it this far."

"But we started with twelve," protests Lucy. I close my eyes and wait for the reprimand. She needs to learn to stay quiet.

"There is always at least one transfer who doesn't make it to the compound," says Gajeel, picking at his cuticles. He shrugs. "Anyway, in the first stage of initiation, we keep transfers and Dauntless-born initiates separate, but that doesn't mean you are evaluated separately. At the end of initiation, your rankings will be determined in comparison with the Dauntless-born initiates. And they are better than you are already. So I expect—"

"Rankings?" asks the mousy-haired Erudite girl to my right. "Why are we ranked?"

Gajeel smiles, and in the blue light, his smile looks wicked, like it was cut into his face with a knife. Reminds me of the Joker.

"Your ranking serves two purposes," he says. "The first is that it determines the order in which you will select a job after initiation. There are only a few desirable positions available."

My stomach tightens. I know by looking at his smile, like I knew the second I entered the aptitude test room, that something bad is about to happen.

"The second purpose," he says, "is that only the top ten initiates are made members."

Pain stabs my stomach. We all stand still as statues. And then Lucy says, "What?"

"There are eleven Dauntless-borns, and nine of you," Gajeel continues. "Frost's initiates will be cut at the end of stage one. The remainder will be cut after the final test."

That means that even if we make it through each stage of initiation, six initiates will not be members. I see Lucy look at me from the corner of my eye, but I can't look back at her. My eyes are fixed on Gajeel and will not move.

My odds, as the smallest initiate, as the only Abnegation transfer, are not good.

"What do we do if we're cut?" Pereus says.

"You leave the Dauntless compound," says Gajeel indifferently, "and live factionless."

The mousy-haired girl clamps her hand over her mouth and stifles a sob. I remember the factionless man with the gray teeth, snatching the bag of apples from my hands. His dull, staring eyes. But instead of crying, like the Erudite girl, I feel colder. Harder.

I will be a member. I will.

"But that's…not fair!" the broad-shouldered Candor male, Jellal, says. Even though she sounds angry, she looks terrified. "If we had known—"

"Are you saying that if you had known this before the Choosing Ceremony, you wouldn't have chosen Dauntless?" Gajeel snaps. "Because if that's the case, you should get out now. If you are really one of us, it won't matter to you that you might fail. And if it does, you are a coward."

Gajeel pushes the door to the dormitory open.

"You chose us," he says. "Now we have to choose you."

I lie in bed and listen to nine people breathing.

I have never slept in the same room as a boy before, but here I have no other option, unless I want to sleep in the hallway. Everyone else changed into the clothes the Dauntless provided for us, but I sleep in my Abnegation clothes, which still smell like soap and fresh air, like home.

I used to have my own room. I could see the front lawn from the window, and beyond it, the foggy skyline. I am used to sleeping in silence.

Heat swells behind my eyes as I think of home, and when I blink, a tear slips out. I cover my mouth to stifle a sob.

I can't cry, not here. I have to calm down.

It will be all right here. I can look at my reflection whenever I want. I can befriend Lucy, and cut my hair short, and let other people clean up their own messes.

My hands shake and the tears come faster now, blurring my vision.

It doesn't matter that the next time I see my parents, on Visiting Day, they will barely recognize me—if they come at all. It doesn't matter that I ache at even a split-second memory of their faces. Even Wendy's, despite how much his secrets hurt me. I match my inhales to the inhales of the other initiates, and my exhales to their exhales. It doesn't matter.

A strangled sound interrupts the breathing, followed by a heavy sob. Bed springs squeak as a large body turns, and a pillow muffles the sobs, but not enough. They come from the bunk next to mine—they belong to a Candor boy, Jason, the largest and broadest of all the initiates. He is the last person I expected to break down.

His feet are just inches from my head. I should comfort him—I should want to comfort him, because I was raised that way. Instead I feel disgust. Someone who looks so strong shouldn't act so weak. Why can't he just keep his crying quiet like the rest of us?

I swallow hard.

If my mother knew what I was thinking, I know what look she would give me. The corners of her mouth turned down. Her eyebrows set low over her eyes—not scowling, almost tired. I drag the heel of my hand over my cheeks.

Jason sobs again. I almost feel the sound grate in my own throat. He is just inches away from me—I should touch him.

No. I put my hand down and roll onto my side, facing the wall. No one has to know that I don't want to help him. I can keep that secret buried. My eyes shut and I feel the pull of sleep, but every time I come close, I hear Jason crying again.

Maybe my problem isn't that I can't go home. I will miss my mother and father and Wendy and evening firelight and the clack of my mother's knitting needles, but that is not the only reason for this hollow feeling in my stomach.

My problem might be that even if I did go home, I wouldn't belong there, among people who give without thinking and care without trying.

The thought makes me grit my teeth. I gather the pillow around my ears to block out Jason's crying, and fall asleep with a circle of moisture pressed to my cheek.

I don't dream.

"The first principle you will learn today is how to shoot a gun. The second thing is how to win a fight." Frost presses a gun into my palm without looking at me and keeps walking. "Thankfully, if you are here, you already know how to get on and off a moving train, so I don't need to teach you that."

I shouldn't be surprised that the Dauntless expect us to hit the ground running, but I anticipated more than six hours of rest before the running began. My body is still heavy from lack of sleep.

"Initiation is divided into three stages. We will measure your progress and rank you according to your performance in each stage. The stages are not weighed equally in determining your final rank, so it is possible, though difficult, to drastically improve your rank over time."

I stare at the weapon in my hand. Never in my life did I expect to hold a gun, let alone fire one. It feels dangerous to me, as if just by touching it, I could hurt someone.

"We believe that preparation eradicates cowardice, which we define as the failure to act in the midst of fear," says Frost. "Therefore each stage of initiation is intended to prepare you in a different way. The first stage is primarily physical; the second, primarily emotional; the third, primarily mental."

"But what…" Pereus yawns through his words. "What does firing a gun have to do with…bravery?"

Frost flips the gun in his hand, presses the barrel to Pereus's forehead, and clicks a bullet into place. Pereus freezes with his lips parted, the yawn dead in his mouth.

"Wake. Up," Frost snaps. "You are holding a loaded gun, you idiot. Act like it." He hisses.

He lowers the gun. Once the immediate threat is gone, Pereus's aquamarine eyes harden. I'm surprised he can stop himself from responding, after speaking his mind all his life in Candor, but he does, his cheeks flaming.

"And to answer your question…you are far less likely to soil your pants and cry for your mother if you're prepared to defend yourself." Frost stops walking at the end of the row and turns on his heel. "This is also information you may need later in stage one. So, watch me."

He faces the wall with the targets on it—one square of plywood with three red circles on it for each of us. He stands with his feet apart, holds the gun in both hands, and fires. The bang is so loud it hurts my ears. I crane my neck to look at the target. The bullet went through the middle circle.

I turn to my own target. My family would never approve of me firing a gun. They would say that guns are used for self-defense, if not violence, and therefore they are self-serving. I remember that they are not here anymore. That they can't stop me.

I push my family from my mind, set my feet shoulder-width apart, and delicately wrap both hands around the handle of the gun. It's heavy and hard to lift away from my body, but I want it to be as far from my face as possible. I squeeze the trigger, hesitantly at first and then harder, cringing away from the gun. The sound hurts my ears and the recoil sends my hands back, toward my nose. I stumble, pressing my hand to the wall behind me for balance. I don't know where my bullet went, but I know it's not near the target.

I fire again and again and again, and none of the bullets come close.

"Statistically speaking," the Erudite boy next to me—his name is Loki—says, grinning at me, "you should have hit the target at least once by now, even by accident." He is blond/gingerish, with shaggy hair and a crease between his eyebrows along with glasses.

"Is that so," I say without inflection.

"Yeah," he says. "I think you're actually defying nature."

I grit my teeth and turn toward the target, resolving to at least stand still. If I can't master the first task they give us, how will I ever make it through stage one?

I squeeze the trigger, hard, and this time I'm ready for the recoil. It makes my hands jump back, but my feet stay planted. A bullet hole appears at the edge of the target, and I raise an eyebrow at Loki.

"So you see, I'm right. The stats don't lie," he says.

I smile a little.

It takes me five rounds to hit the middle of the target, and when I do, a rush of energy goes through me. I am awake, my eyes wide open, my hands warm. I lower the gun. There is power in controlling something that can do so much damage—in controlling something, period.

Maybe I do belong here.

By the time we break for lunch, my arms throb from holding up the gun and my fingers are hard to straighten. I massage them on my way to the dining hall. Lucy invites Jason to sit with us. Every time I look at him, I hear his sobs again, so I try not to look at him.

I move my peas around with my fork, and my thoughts drift back to the aptitude tests. When Levy warned me that being Divergent was dangerous, I felt like it was branded on my face, and if I so much as turned the wrong way, someone would see it. So far it hasn't been a problem, but that doesn't make me feel safe. What if I let my guard down and something terrible happens?

"Oh, come on. You don't remember me?" Lucy asks alas she makes a sandwich. "We were in Math together just a few days ago. And I am not a quiet person."

"I slept through Math most of the time," Jason replies. "It was first hour!"

What if the danger doesn't come soon—what if it strikes years from now and I never see it coming?

"Natsu," says Lucy. She snaps her fingers in front of my face. "You in there?"

"What? What is it?"

"I asked if you remember ever taking a class with me," she says. "I mean, no offense, but I probably wouldn't remember if you did. All the Abnegation looked the same to me. I mean, they still do, but now you're not one of them."

I stare at her. As if I need her to remind me.

"Sorry, am I being rude?" she asks. "I'm used to just saying whatever is on my mind. Mom used to say that politeness is deception in pretty packaging."

"I think that's why our factions don't usually associate with each other," I say, with a short laugh. Candor and Abnegation don't hate each other the way Erudite and Abnegation do, but they avoid each other. Candor's real problem is with Amity. Those who seek peace above all else, they say, will always deceive to keep the water calm.

"Can I sit here?" says Loki, tapping the table with his finger.

"What, you don't want to hang out with your Erudite buddies?" says Lucy.

"They aren't my buddies," says Loki, setting his plate down. "Just because we were in the same faction doesn't mean we get along. Plus, Sting and Rouge are dating, and I would rather not be the third wheel."

Rogue and Sting, the other Erudite transfers, sit two tables away, so close they bump elbows as they cut their food. Sting pauses to kiss Rouge. I watch them carefully. I've only seen a few kisses in my life.

Rouge turns his head and presses his lips to Sting's. Air hisses between my teeth, and I look away. Part of me waits for them to be scolded. Another part wonders, with a touch of desperation, what it would feel like to have someone's lips against mine.

"Do they have to be so public?" I say.

"He just kissed him." Jason frowns at me. When he frowns, his thick eyebrows touch his eyelashes. "It's not like they're stripping naked."

"A kiss is not something you do in public."

Jason, Loki, and Lucy all give me the same knowing smile.

"What?" I say.

"Your Abnegation is showing," says Lucy. "The rest of us are all right with a little affection in public."

"Oh." I shrug. "Well…I guess I'll have to get over it, then."

"Or you can stay frigid," says Loki, his green eyes glinting with mischief. "You know. If you want."

Lucy throws a roll at him. He catches it and bites it.

"Don't be mean to her," she says. "Frigidity is in her nature. Sort of like being a know-it-all is in yours."

"I am not frigid!" I exclaim.

"Don't worry about it," says Loki. "It's endearing. Look, you're all red."

The comment only makes my face hotter. Everyone else chuckles. I force a laugh and, after a few seconds, it comes naturally.

It feels good to laugh again.

After lunch, Frost leads us to a new room. It's huge, with a wood floor that is cracked and creaky and has a large circle painted in the middle. On the left wall is a green board—a chalkboard. My Lower Levels teacher used one, but I haven't seen one since then. Maybe it has something to do with Dauntless priorities: training comes first, technology comes second.

Our names are written on the board in alphabetical order. Hanging at three-foot intervals along one end of the room are faded black punching bags.

We line up behind them and Frost stands in the middle, where we can all see him.

"As I said this morning," says Frost, "next you will learn how to fight. The purpose of this is to prepare you to act; to prepare your body to respond to threats and challenges—which you will need, if you intend to survive life as a Dauntless."

I can't even think of life as a Dauntless. All I can think about is making it through initiation.

"We will go over technique today, and tomorrow you will start to fight each other," says Frost. "So I recommend that you pay attention. Those who don't learn fast will get hurt."

Frost names a few different punches, demonstrating each one as he does, first against the air and then against the punching bag.

I catch on as we practice. Like with the gun, I need a few tries to figure out how to hold myself and how to move my body to make it look like his. The kicks are more difficult, though he only teaches us the basics. The punching bag stings my hands and feet, turning my skin red, and barely moves no matter how hard I hit it. All around me is the sound of skin hitting tough fabric.

Frost wanders through the crowd of initiates, watching us as we go through the movements again. When he stops in front of me, my insides twist like someone's stirring them with a fork. He stares at me, his eyes following my body from my head to my feet, not lingering anywhere—a practical, scientific gaze.

"You don't have much muscle," he says, "which means you're better off using your knees and elbows. You can put more power behind them."

Suddenly he presses a hand to my stomach. His fingers are so long that, though the heel of his hand touches one side of my rib cage, his fingertips still touch the other side. My heart pounds so hard my chest hurts, and I stare at him, wide-eyed. The only thing I can think is that he is extremely close.

"Never forget to keep tension here," he says in a quiet voice.

Frost lifts his hand and keeps walking. I feel the pressure of his palm even after he's gone. It's strange, but I have to stop and breathe for a few seconds before I can keep practicing again.

When Frost dismisses us for dinner, Lucy nudges me with her elbow.

"I'm surprised he didn't break you in half," she says. She wrinkles her nose. "He scares the hell out of me. It's that quiet voice he uses."

"Yeah. He's…" I look over my shoulder at him. He is quiet, and remarkably self-possessed. But I wasn't afraid that he would hurt me. "…definitely intimidating," I finally say.

Jason, who was in front of us, turns around once we reach the Pit and announces, "I want to get a tattoo."

From behind us, Loki asks, "A tattoo of what?"

"I don't know." Jason laughs. "I just want to feel like I've actually left the old faction. Stop crying about it." When we don't respond, he adds, "I know you've heard me."

"Yeah, learn to quiet down, will you?" Lucy pokes Jason's thick arm. "I think you're right. We're half in, half out right now. If we want all the way in, we should look the part."

She gives me a look.

"No. I will not cut my hair," I say, "or dye it a strange color. Or pierce my face."

"How about your bellybutton?" she says.

"Or your nipple?" will says with a snort.

I groan.

Now that training is done for the day, we can do whatever we want until it's time to sleep. The idea makes me feel almost giddy, although that might be from fatigue.

The Pit is swarming with people. Lucy announces that she and I will meet aland will at the tattoo parlor and drags me toward the clothing place. We stumble up the path, climbing higher above the Pit floor, scattering stones with our shoes.

"What is wrong with my clothes?" I say. "I'm not wearing gray anymore."

"They're ugly and gigantic." She sighs. "ill you just let me help you? If you don't like what I put you in, you never have to wear it again, I promise."

Ten minutes later I stand in front of a mirror in the clothing place wearing a knee-length black battle dress. The skirt isn't full, it isn't stuck to my thighs, either—unlike the first one she picked out, which I refused. Goose bumps appear on my bare arms. She slips the tie from my hair and I shake it out of its braid so it hangs wavy over my shoulders.

Then she holds up a black pencil.

"Eyeliner," she says.

"You aren't going to be able to make me pretty, you know." I close my eyes and hold still. She runs the tip of the pencil along the line of my eyelashes. I imagine standing before my family in these clothes, and my stomach twists like I might be sick.

"Who cares about pretty? I'm going for noticeable."

I open my eyes and for the first time stare openly at my own reflection. My heart rate picks up as I do, like I am breaking the rules and will be scolded for it. It will be difficult to break the habits of thinking Abnegation instilled in me, like tugging a single thread from a complex work of embroidery. But I will find new habits, new thoughts, new rules. I will become something else.

My eyes were green before, but a dull, grayish green—the eyeliner makes them piercing. With my hair framing my face, my features look softer and fuller. I am not pretty—my eyes are too big and my nose is too long—but I can see that Lucy is right. My face is noticeable.

Looking at myself now isn't like seeing myself for the first time; it's like seeing someone else for the first time. Natsumi was a girl I saw in stolen moments at the mirror, who kept quiet at the dinner table. This is someone whose eyes claim mine and don't release me; this is Natsu.

"See?" she says. "You're…striking."

Under the circumstances, it's the best compliment she could have given me. I smile at her in the mirror.

"You like it?" she says.

"Yeah." I nod. "I look like…a different person."

She laughs. "That a good thing or a bad thing?"

I look at myself head-on again. For the first time, the idea of leaving my Abnegation identity behind doesn't make me nervous; it gives me hope.

"A good thing." I shake my head. "Sorry, I've just never been allowed to stare at my reflection for this long. Especially since I'm different."

"Really?" Lucy shakes her head. "What makes you different from the rest of us girls?"

"Well the thing is...I'm a guy." I confess. "Well I'm a hermaphrodite actually."

Lucy looks at me. She just stares for a bit. Finally after what feels like eternity, she smiles.

"And. You're still Natsu." She finally says.

"Let's go watch Jason get tattooed," I say.

At home, my mother and I picked up nearly identical stacks of clothing every six months or so. It's easy to allocate resources when everyone gets the same thing, but everything is more varied at the Dauntless compound. Every Dauntless gets a certain amount of points to spend per month, and the dress costs one of them.

Lucy and I race down the narrow path to the tattoo place. When we get there, Jason is sitting in the chair already, and a small, narrow man with more ink than bare skin is drawing a spider on his arm.

Loki and Lucy flip through books of pictures, elbowing each other when they find a good one. When they sit next to each other, I notice how opposite they are, Lucy tan and well-endowed, Loki pale and solid, but alike in their easy smiles.

I wander around the room, looking at the artwork on the walls. These days, the only artists are in Amity. Abnegation sees art as impractical, and its appreciation as time that could be spent serving others, so though I have seen works of art in textbooks, I have never been in a decorated room before. It makes the air feel close and warm, and I could get lost here for hours without noticing. I skim the wall with my fingertips. A picture of a dragon on one wall reminds me of Levy's tattoo. Beneath it is a sketch of a dragon in flight.

"It's a dragon," a voice behind me says. "Pretty, right?"

I turn to see Levy standing there. I feel like I am back in the aptitude test room, with the mirrors all around me and the wires connected to my forehead. I didn't expect to see her again.

"Well, hello there." She smiles. "Never thought I would see you again. Natsumi, is it?"

"Natsu, actually," I say. "Do you work here?"

"I do. I just took a break to administer the tests. Most of the time I'm here." She taps her chin. "I recognize that name. You were the first jumper, weren't you?"

"Yes, I was."

"Well done."

"Thanks." I touch the sketch of the bird. "Listen—I need to talk to you about…" I glance over at will and Lucy. I can't corner Levy now; they'll ask questions. "…something. Sometime."

"I am not sure that would be wise," she says quietly. "I helped you as much as I could, and now you will have to go it alone."

I purse my lips. She has answers; I know she does. If she won't give them to me now, I will have to find a way to make her tell me some other time.

"Want a tattoo?" she says.

The dragon sketch holds my attention. I never intended to get pierced or tattooed when I came here. I know that if I do, it will place another wedge between me and my family that I can never remove. And if my life here continues as it has been, it may soon be the least of the wedges between us.

But I understand now what Levy said about her tattoo representing a fear she overcame—a reminder of where she was, as well as a reminder of where she is now. Maybe there is a way to honor my old life as I embrace my new one.

"Yes," I say. "Three of these flying dragons. One red, one blue, and one white."

I touch my collarbone, marking the path of their flight—toward my heart. One for each member of the family I left behind.

"Since there is an uneven number of you, one of you won't be fighting today," says Frost, stepping away from the board in the training room. He gives me a look. The space next to my name is blank.

The knot in my stomach unravels. A reprieve.

"This isn't good," says Lucy, nudging me with her elbow. Her elbow prods one of my sore muscles—I have more sore muscles than not-sore muscles, this morning—and I wince.

"Ow."

"Sorry," she says. "But look. I'm up against the Tank."

Lucy and I sat together at breakfast, and earlier she shielded me from the rest of the dormitory as I changed. I haven't had a friend like her before. Sherria was better friends with Wendy than with me, and Lyon only went where Sherria went.

I guess I haven't really had a friend, period. It's impossible to have real friendship when no one feels like they can accept help or even talk about themselves. That won't happen here. I already know more about Lucy than I ever knew about Sherria, and it's only been two days. The sme vice versa.

"The Tank?" I find Lucy's name on the board. Written next to it is "Jellal."

"Yeah, Pereus's slightly more feminine-looking minion," she says, nodding toward the cluster of people on the other side of the room. Jellal is tall like Lucy, but that's where the similarities end. He has broad shoulders, pale skin, and a sharp nose.

"Those three"—Lucy points at Pereus, Drew, and Jellal in turn—"have been inseparable since they crawled out of the womb, practically. I hate them."

Loki and Jason stand across from each other in the arena. They put their hands up by their faces to protect themselves, as Frost taught us, and shuffle in a circle around each other. Jason is half a foot taller than Loki, and twice as broad. As I stare at him, I realize that even his facial features are big—big nose, big lips, big eyes. This fight won't last long.

I glance at Pereus and his friends. Drew is shorter than both Pereus and Jellal, but he's built like a boulder, and his shoulders are always hunched. His hair is orange-red, the color of an old carrot.

"What's wrong with them?" I say.

"Pereus is pure evil. When we were kids, he would pick fights with people from other factions and then, when an adult came to break it up, he'd cry and make up some story about how the other kid started it. And of course, they believed him, because we were Candor and we couldn't lie. Ha ha."

Lucy wrinkles her nose and adds, "Drew is just his sidekick. I doubt he has an independent thought in his brain. And Jellal…he's the kind of person who fries ants with a magnifying glass just to watch them flail around."

In the arena, Jason punches will hard in the jaw. I wince. Across the room, Gajeel smirks at Jason, and turns one of the rings in his eyebrow.

Loki stumbles to the side, one hand pressed to his face, and blocks Al's next punch with his free hand. Judging by his grimace, blocking the punch is as painful as a blow would have been. alis slow, but powerful.

Pereus, Drew, and Jellal cast furtive looks in our direction and then pull their heads together, whispering.

"I think they know we're talking about them," I say.

"So? They already know I hate them."

"They do? How?"

Lucy fakes a smile at them and waves. I look down, my cheeks warm. I shouldn't be gossiping anyway. Gossiping is self-indulgent.

Loki hooks a foot around one of Jason's legs and yanks back, knocking Jason to the ground. Jason scrambles back to his feet.

"Because I've told them," she says, through the gritted teeth of her smile. Her teeth are straight on top and crooked on the bottom. She looks at me. "We try to be pretty honest about our feelings in Candor. Plenty of people have told me that they don't like me. And plenty of people haven't. Who cares?"

"We just…weren't supposed to hurt people," I say.

"I like to think I'm helping them by hating them," she says. "I'm reminding them that they aren't God's gift to humankind."

I laugh a little at that and focus on the arena again. Loki and Jason face each other for a few more seconds, more hesitant than they were before. will flicks his pale hair from his eyes. They glance at Frost like they're waiting for him to call the fight off, but he stands with his arms folded, giving no response. A few feet away from him, Gajeel checks his watch.

After a few seconds of circling, Gajeel shouts, "Do you think this is a leisure activity? Should we break for nap-time? Fight each other!"

"But…" Jason straightens, letting his hands down, and says, "Is it scored or something? When does the fight end?"

"It ends when one of you is unable to continue," says Gajeel.

"According to Dauntless rules," Frost says, "one of you could also surrender."

Gajeel narrows his eyes at Frost. "According to the old rules," he says. "In the new rules, no one concedes."

"A brave man acknowledges the strength of others," Frost replies.

"A brave man never surrenders."

Frost and Gajeel stare at each other for a few seconds. I feel like I am looking at two different kinds of Dauntless—the honorable kind, and the ruthless kind. But even I know that in this room, it's Gajeel, the youngest leader of the Dauntless, who has the authority.

Beads of sweat dot Jason's forehead; he wipes them with the back of his hand.

"This is ridiculous," he says, shaking his head. "What's the point of beating him up? We're in the same faction!"

"Oh, you think it's going to be that easy?" Jason asks, grinning. "Go on. Try to hit me, slowpoke."

Loki puts his hands up again. I see determination in Loki's eyes that wasn't there before. Does he really believe he can win? One hard shot to the head and Jason will knock him out cold.

That is, if he can actually hit him. Jason tries a punch, and Loki ducks, the back of his neck shining with sweat. He dodges another punch, slipping around and kicking Jason hard in the back. Jason lurches forward and turns.

When I was younger, I read a book about grizzly bears. There was a picture of one standing on its hind legs with its paws outstretched, roaring. That is how Jason looks now. He charges at will, grabbing his arm so he can't slip away, and punches him hard in the jaw.

I watch the light leave Loki's eyes, which are pale green, like celery. They roll back into his head, and all the tension falls from his body. He slips from Jason's grasp, dead weight, and crumples to the floor. Cold rushes down my back and fills my chest.

Jason's eyes widen, and he crouches next to will, tapping his cheek with one hand. The room falls silent as we wait for will to respond. For a few seconds, he doesn't, just lies on the ground with an arm bent beneath him. Then he blinks, clearly dazed.

"Get him up," Gajeel says. He stares with greedy eyes at Loki's fallen body, like the sight is a meal and he hasn't eaten in weeks. The curl of his lip is cruel.

Frost turns to the chalkboard and circles Jason's name. Victory.

"Next up—Jellal and Lucy!" shouts Gajeel. Jason pulls Loki's arm across his shoulders and drags him out of the arena.

Lucy cracks her knuckles. I would wish her luck, but I don't know what good that would do. Lucy isn't weak, but she's much narrower than Jellal. Hopefully her height will help her.

Across the room, Frost supports will from the waist and leads him out. Jason stands for a moment by the door, watching them go.

Frost leaving makes me nervous. Leaving us with Gajeel is like hiring a babysitter who spends his time sharpening knives.

Lucy tucks her hair behind her ears. It is shoulder-length, blond, and pinned back with silver clips. She cracks another knuckle. She looks nervous, and no wonder—who wouldn't be nervous after watching Loki collapse like a rag doll?

If conflict in Dauntless ends with only one person standing, I am unsure of what this part of initiation will do to me. Will I be Jason, standing over a man's body, knowing I'm the one who put him on the ground, or will I be Loki, lying in a helpless heap? And is it selfish of me to crave victory, or is it brave? I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. This reminds me off the test.

I snap to attention when Lucy kicks Jellal in the side. Jellal gasps and grits his teeth like he's about to growl through them. A lock of stringy blue hair falls across his face, but he doesn't brush it away.

Jason stands next to me, but I'm too focused on the new fight to look at him, or congratulate him on winning, assuming that's what he wants. I am not sure.

Jellal smirks at Lucy, and without warning, dives, hands outstretched, at Lucy's midsection. He hits her hard, knocking her down, and pins her to the ground. Lucy thrashes, but Jellal is heavy and doesn't budge.

He punches, and Lucy moves her head out of the way, but Jellal just punches again, and again, until her fist hits Lucy's jaw, her nose, her mouth. Without thinking, I grab Jason's arm and squeeze it as tightly as I can. I just need something to hold on to. Blood runs down the side of Lucy's face and splatters on the ground next to her cheek. This is the first time I have ever prayed for someone to fall unconscious.

But she doesn't. Lucy screams and drags one of her arms free. She punches Jellal in the ear, knocking him off-balance, and wriggles free. She comes to her knees, holding her face with one hand. The blood streaming from her nose is thick and dark and covers her fingers in seconds. She screams again and crawls away from Jellal. I can tell by the heaving of her shoulders that she's sobbing, but I can barely hear her over the throbbing in my ears.

Please go unconscious.

Jellal kicks Lucy's side, sending her sprawling on her back. Jason frees his hand and pulls me tight to his side. I clench my teeth to keep from crying out. I had no sympathy for Jason the first night, but I am not cruel yet; the sight of Lucy clutching her rib cage makes me want to stand between her and Jellal.

"Stop!" wails Lucy as Jellal pulls his foot back to kick again. She holds out a hand. "Stop! I'm…" She coughs. "I'm done."

Jellal smiles, and I sigh with relief. Jason sighs too, his rib cage lifting and falling against my shoulder.

Gajeel walks toward the center of the arena, his movements slow, and stands over Lucy with his arms folded. He says quietly, "I'm sorry, what did you say? You're done?"

Lucy pushes herself to her knees. When she takes her hand from the ground, it leaves a red handprint behind. She pinches her nose to stop the bleeding and nods.

"Get up," he says. If he had yelled, I might not have felt like everything inside my stomach was about to come out of it. If he had yelled, I would have known that the yelling was the worst he planned to do. But his voice is quiet and his words precise. He grabs Lucy's arm, yanks her to her feet, and drags her out the door.

"Follow me," he says to the rest of us.

And we do.

I feel the roar of the river in my chest.

This is not going to be good.

We stand near the railing. The Pit is almost empty; it is the middle of the afternoon, though it feels like it's been night for days.

If there were people around, I doubt any of them would help Lucy. We are with Gajeel, for one thing, and for another, the Dauntless have different rules—rules that brutality does not violate.

Gajeel shoves Lucy against the railing.

"Climb over it," he says.

"What?" She says it like she expects him to relent, but her wide eyes and ashen face suggest otherwise. Gajeel will not back down.

"Climb over the railing," says Gajeel again, pronouncing each word slowly. "If you can hang over the chasm for five minutes, I will forget your cowardice. If you can't, I will not allow you to continue initiation."

The railing is narrow and made of metal. The spray from the river coats it, making it slippery and cold. Even if Lucy is brave enough to hang from the railing for five minutes, she may not be able to hold on. Either she decides to be factionless, or she risks death.

When I close my eyes, I imagine her falling onto the jagged rocks below and shudder.

"Fine," she says, her voice shaking.

She is tall enough to swing her leg over the railing. Her foot shakes. She puts her toe on the ledge as she lifts her other leg over. Facing us, she wipes her hands on her pants and holds on to the railing so hard her knuckles turn white. Then she takes one foot off the ledge. And the other. I see her face between the bars of the barrier, determined, her lips pressed together.

Next to me, Jason sets his watch.

For the first minute and a half, Lucy is fine. Her hands stay firm around the railing and her arms don't shake. I start to think she might make it and show Gajeel how foolish he was to doubt her.

But then the river hits the wall, and white water sprays against Lucy's back. Her face strikes the barrier, and she cries out. Her hands slip so she's just holding on by her fingertips. She tries to get a better grip, but now her hands are wet.

If I help her, Gajeel would make my fate the same as hers. Will I let her fall to her death, or will I resign myself to being factionless? What's worse: to be idle while someone dies, or to be exiled and empty-handed?

My parents would have no problem answering that question.

But I am not my parents.

And I never will be.

As far as I know, Lucy hasn't cried since we got here, but now her face crumples and she lets out a sob that is louder than the river. Another wave hits the wall and the spray coats her body. One of the droplets hits my cheek. Her hands slip again, and this time, one of them falls from the railing, so she's hanging by four fingertips.

"Come on, Lucy," says Jason, his low voice surprisingly loud. She looks at him. He claps. "Come on, grab it again. You can do it. Grab it."

Would I even be strong enough to hold on to her? Would it be worth my effort to try to help her if I know I'm too weak to do any good?

I know what those questions are: excuses. Human reason can excuse any evil; that is why it's so important that we don't rely on it. My father's exact words.

Lucy swings her arm, fumbling for the railing. No one else cheers her on, but Jason brings his big hands together and shouts, his eyes holding hers. I wish I could; I wish I could move, but I just stare at her and wonder how long I have been this disgustingly selfish. I at least manage to give her a small smile and a barely there shout of encouragement.

I stare at Jason's watch. Four minutes have passed. He elbows me hard in the shoulder.

"Come on, let's go cheer her on," I say. My voice is a whisper. I clear my throat. "One minute left," I say, louder this time. Lucy's other hand finds the railing again. Her arms shake so hard I wonder if the earth is quaking beneath me, jiggling my vision, and I just didn't notice.

"Come on, Lucy," I we chant, and as our voices join, I believe I might be strong enough to help her.

I will help her. If she slips again, I will.

Another wave of water splashes against Lucy's back, and she shrieks as both her hands slip off the railing. A scream launches from my mouth. It sounds like it belongs to someone else.

But she doesn't fall. She grabs the bars of the barrier. Her fingers slide down the metal until I can't see her head anymore; they are all I see.

Jason's watch reads 5:00.

"Five minutes are up," he says, almost spitting the words at Gajeel.

Gajeel checks his own watch. Taking his time, tilting his wrist, all while my stomach twists and I can't breathe. When I blink, I see Mira's sister on the pavement below the train tracks, limbs bent at strange angles; I see Mira screaming and sobbing; I see myself turning away.

"Fine," Gajeel says. "You can come up, Lucy."

Jason walks toward the railing.

"No," Gajeel says. "She has to do it on her own."

"No, she doesn't," he growls. "She did what you said. She's not a coward. She did what you said."

Gajeel doesn't respond. Jason reaches over the railing, and he's so tall that he can reach Lucy's wrist. She grabs his forearm. He pulls her up, his face red with frustration, and I run forward to help. I'm too short to do much good, as I suspected, but I grip Lucy under the shoulder once she's high enough, and Jason and I haul her over the barrier. She drops to the ground, her face still blood-smeared from the fight, her back soaking wet, her body quivering.

I kneel next to her. Her eyes lift to mine, then shift to Jason, and we all catch our breath together.

 

I have no beta. So please excuse grammar mistakes.


	7. Reality Check

That night I dream of Lucy. She hangs from the railing again, by one hand this time, and I hear someone shout that only someone who is Divergent can help her. So I run forward to try to pull her up, but someone shoves me over the edge, and I wake before I hit the water.

Sweat-soaked and shaky from the dream, I walk to the girls' bathroom to shower and change. When I come back, the word "Stiff" is spray-painted across my mattress in pink. The word is written smaller along the bed frame, and again on my pillow. I look around, my heart pounding with anger and frustration.

Pereus stands behind me, whistling as he fluffs his pillow. It's hard to believe I could hate someone who looks so handsome. His eyebrows turn upward naturally, and he has a wide, white smile, all coupled with the fact that his hair looks like the sun and the fact that his eyes are as blue as the sky.

"Nice decorations," he mocks.

"Did I do something to you that I'm unaware of?" I demand. I grab the corner of a sheet and yank it away from the mattress. "I don't know if you've noticed, but we are in the same faction now moron."

"I don't know what you're referring to," he says lightly. Then he glances at me and says, "We will never be in the same faction."

I shake my head as I remove my pillowcase from the pillow. Don't get angry. He wants to get a rise out of me; he won't. But every time he fluffs his pillow, I think about setting him on fire.

Jason walks in, and I don't even have to ask him to help me; he just walks over and strips bedding with me. I will have to scrub the bed frame later. Jason carries the stack of sheets to the trash can and together we walk toward the training room.

"Ignore him," he says. "He's an idiot, and if you don't get angry, he'll stop eventually."

"Yeah." I touch my cheeks. They are still warm with a prominent angry blush. I try to distract myself. "Did you talk to Loki?" I ask quietly. "After…um...you know."

"Yeah. He's fine. He isn't angry." He sighs. "Now I'll always be remembered as the first guy who knocked someone out cold."

"There are worse ways to be remembered. At least they won't bully you."

"There are better ways too." He nudges me with his elbow, smiling. "First jumper."

Maybe I was the first jumper, but I suspect that's where my Dauntless fame begins and ends.

I clear my throat. "One of you had to get knocked out, you know. If it hadn't been him, it would have been you."

"Still, I don't want to do it again." He shakes his head, too many times, too fast. He sniffs. "I really don't want to hurt anyone."

We reach the door to the training room and I say, "But you have to."

He has a kind face. Maybe he is too kind for Dauntless.

I look at the chalkboard when I walk in. I didn't have to fight yesterday, but today I definitely will. When I see my name, I stop in the middle of my step.

My opponent is Pereus.

"Oh no," says Lucy, who shuffles in behind us. Her face is bruised, and she looks like she is trying not to limp. When she sees the board, she crumples the muffin wrapper she is holding into her fist. "Are they serious? They're really going to make you fight him?"

Pereus is almost a foot taller than I am, and yesterday, he beat Rouge in less than five minutes. Today Rouge's face is more black-and-blue than flesh-toned.

"Maybe you can just take a few hits and pretend to go unconscious," suggests Jason. "No one would blame you."

"Yeah," I say. "Maybe."

I stare at my name on the board. My cheeks feel hot. Jason and Lucy are just trying to help, but the fact that they don't believe, not even in a tiny corner of their minds, that I have a chance against Pereus bothers me. As if they don't have faith in me.

I stand at the side of the room, half listening to Jason's and Lucy's chatter, and half watch Jellal fight Sting. He's much faster than he is, so I'm sure Jellal will not win today.

As the fight goes on and my irritation fades, I start to get nervous. Frost told us yesterday to exploit our opponent's weaknesses, and aside from his utter lack of likable qualities, Pereus doesn't have any. He's tall enough to be strong but not so big that he's slow; he has an eye for other people's soft spots; he's vicious and won't show me any mercy. I would like to say that he underestimates me, but that would be a lie. I am as unskilled as he suspects.

Maybe Jason is right, and I should just take a few hits and pretend to be unconscious.

But I can't afford not to try. I can't be ranked last.

By the time Jellal peels himself off the ground, looking only half-conscious thanks to Sting, my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. I can't remember how to stand. I can't remember how to punch. I walk to the center of the arena and my guts writhe as Pereus comes toward me, taller than I remembered, arm muscles standing at attention. He smiles at me. I wonder if throwing up on him will do me any good.

I doubt it.

"You okay there, Stiff?" he says. "You look like you're about to cry. I might go easy on you if you cry."

Over Pereus's shoulder, I see Frost standing by the door with his arms folded. His mouth is puckered, like he just swallowed something sour. Next to him is Gajeel, who taps his foot faster than my heartbeat.

One second Pereus and I are standing there, staring at each other, and the next Pereus's hands are up by his face, his elbows bent. His knees are bent too, like he's ready to spring.

"Come on, Stiff," he says, his eyes glinting. "Just one little tear. Maybe some begging."

The thought of begging Pereus for mercy makes me taste bile, and on an impulse, I kick him in the side. Or I would have kicked him in the side, if he hadn't caught my foot and yanked it forward, knocking me off-balance. My back smacks into the floor, and I pull my foot free, scrambling to my feet.

I have to stay on my feet so he can't kick me in the head. That's the only thing I can think about.

"Stop playing with her," snaps Gajeel. "I don't have all day. Finish this in 5."

Pereus's mischievous look disappears. His arm twitches and pain stabs my jaw and spreads across my face, making my vision go black at the edges and my ears ring. I blink and lurch to the side as the room dips and sways. I don't remember his fist coming at me.

I recover fast enough to dodge a well-aimed kick to my side. I manage to twist around and land a blow that grazes his left rib. I hear a muffled grunt.

He lands a punch on my right shoulder and I stumble long enough for him to swivel on his knees and steal my legs from under me. I feel the air leave my lugs as the floor meets my back.

I roll out of the way fast enough to dodge a punch. If it landed he would've broken my rib cage. I stand and try to aim a kick for his chin.

I am greeted with a right hook to the eye.

I don't remember what happened next but I managed to latch onto his right arm and judo-flip him across my back and onto the floor. He stands and uses his momentum to tackle me to the floor. He then mercilessly begins to punch the right side of my face. I am not strong enough to push him off, so I improvise. I kick him in the tenders.

He keels momentarily from shock long enough for me to escape his grasp. I kick him in the face and roll before he can retaliate. He recoils and ponces again. This time, I can't escape. He punches my face and torso reeatedly.

He is about to land a final blow when someone shouts, "Enough!" and I blackout.

When I wake up, I don't feel much, but the inside of my head is fuzzy, like it's packed with cotton balls.

I know that I lost, and the only thing keeping the pain at bay is what is making it difficult to think straight.

"Is his eye already black?" someone asks.

I open one eye—the other stays shut like it's glued that way. Sitting to my right are Loki and Jason; Lucy sits on the bed to my left with an ice pack on her jaw.

"What happened to your face?" I say. My lips feel clumsy and too large.

She laughs. "Look who's talking. Should we get you an eye patch?"

"Well, I already know what happened to my face," I say. "I was there. Sort of."

"Did you just make a joke, Natsu?" Loki says, grinning. "We should get you on painkillers more often if you're going to start cracking jokes. Oh, and to answer your question—I beat her up."

"I can't believe you couldn't beat Loki," Jason says, shaking his head.

"What? He's good," she says, shrugging. "Plus, I think I've finally learned how to stop losing. I just need to stop people from punching me in the jaw."

"You know, you'd think you would have figured that out already." Loki winks at her. "Now I know why you aren't Erudite. Not too bright, are you?"

"You feeling okay, Natsu?" Jason says. His eyes are dark blue, almost the same color as Frost's. His cheek looks rough, like if he didn't shave it, he would have a thick beard. Hard to believe he's only eighteen.

"Yeah," I say. "Just wish I could stay here forever so I never have to see Pereus again."

But I don't know where "here" is. I am in a large, narrow room with a row of beds on either side. Some of the beds have curtains between them. On the right side of the room is a nurse's station. This must be where the Dauntless go when they're sick or hurt. The woman there looks at us over a clipboard. I've never seen a nurse with so many piercings in her ear before. Some Dauntless must volunteer to do jobs that traditionally belong to other factions. After all, it wouldn't make sense for the Dauntless to make the trek to the city hospital every time they get hurt.

The first time I went to the hospital, I was six years old. My mother fell on the sidewalk in front of our house and broke her arm. Hearing her scream made me burst into tears, but Wendy just ran for my father without saying a word. At the hospital, an Amity woman in a yellow shirt with clean fingernails took my mother's blood pressure and set her bone with a smile.

I remember Wendy telling her that it would only take a month to mend, because it was a hairline fracture. I thought she was reassuring her, because that's what selfless people do, but now I wonder if she was repeating something she had studied; if all her Abnegation tendencies were just Erudite traits in disguise.

"Don't worry about Pereus," says Loki. "He'll at least get beat up by Sting, who has been studying hand-to-hand combat since we were ten years old. For fun."

"Good," says Lucy. She checks her watch. "I think we're missing dinner. Do you want us to stay here, Natsu?"

I shake my head. "I'm fine."

Lucy and Will get up, but Jason waves them ahead. He has a distinct smell—sweet and fresh, like lavendar and wintergreen. When he tosses and turns at night, I get a whiff of it and I know he's having a nightmare.

"I just wanted to tell you that you missed Gajeel's announcement. We're going on a field trip tomorrow, to the fence, to learn about Dauntless jobs," he says. "We have to be at the train by eight fifteen."

"Good," I say. "Thanks."

"And don't pay attention to Lucy. Your face doesn't look that bad." He smiles a little. "I mean, it looks good. It always looks good. I mean—you look brave. Dauntless."

His eyes skirt mine, and he scratches the back of his head. The silence seems to grow between us. It was a nice thing to say, but he acts like it meant more than just the words. I hope I am wrong. I could not be attracted to him—I could not be attracted to anyone that fragile. I smile as much as my bruised cheek will allow, hoping that will diffuse the tension.

"I should let you rest," he says. He gets up to leave, but before he can go, I grab his wrist.

"Jason, are you okay?" I say. He stares blankly at me, and I add, "I mean, is it getting any easier?"

"Uh…" He shrugs. "A little."

He pulls his hand free and shoves it in his pocket. The question must have embarrassed him, because I've never seen him so red before. If I spent my nights sobbing into my pillow, I would be a little embarrassed too. At least when I cry, I know how to hide it.

"I lost to Sting. After your fight with Pereus." He looks at me. "I took a few hits, fell down, and stayed there. Even though I didn't have to. I figure…I figure that since I beat Loki, if I lose all the rest, I won't be ranked last, but I won't have to hurt anyone anymore."

"Is that really what you want?"

He looks down. "I just can't do it. Maybe that means I'm a coward."

"You're not a coward just because you don't want to hurt people," I say, because I know it's the right thing to say, even if I'm not sure I mean it.

For a moment we are both still, looking at each other. Maybe I do mean it. If he is a coward, it isn't because he doesn't enjoy pain. It is because he refuses to act.

He gives me a pained look and says, "You think our families will visit us? They say transfer families never come on Visiting Day."

"I don't know," I say. "I don't know if it would be good or bad if they did."

"I think bad." He nods. "Yeah, it's already hard enough." He nods again, as if confirming what he just said, and walks away.

In less than a week, the Abnegation initiates will be able to visit their families for the first time since the Choosing Ceremony. They will go home and sit in their living rooms and interact with their parents for the first time as adults.

I used to look forward to that day. I used to think about what I would say to my mother and father when I was allowed to ask them questions at the dinner table.

In less than a week, the Dauntless-born initiates will find their families on the Pit floor, or in the glass building above the compound, and do whatever it is the Dauntless do when they reunite. Maybe they take turns throwing knives at each other's heads—it wouldn't surprise me.

And the transfer initiates with forgiving parents will be able to see them again too. I suspect mine will not be among them. Not after my father's cry of outrage at the ceremony. Not after both their children left them.

Maybe if I could have told them I was Divergent, and I was confused about what to choose, they would have understood. Maybe they would have helped me figure out what Divergent is, and what it means, and why it's dangerous. But I didn't trust them with that secret, so I will never know.

I clench my teeth as the tears come. I am fed up. I am fed up with tears and weakness. But there isn't much I can do to stop them.

Maybe I drift off to sleep, and maybe I don't. Later that night, though, I slip out of the room and go back to the dormitory. The only thing worse than letting Pereus put me in the hospital would be letting him put me there overnight.


	8. Field Trips and Victory

The next day, I don’t hear the alarm, shuffling feet, or conversations as the other initiates get ready. I wake to Lucy shaking my shoulder with one hand and tapping my cheek with the other. She already wears a black jacket zipped up to her throat. If she has bruises from yesterday’s fight, her light skin and dark clothing mask ‘em.

“Come on,” she says. “Up and at ’em.”

I dreamt that Pereus tied me to a chair and asked me if I was Divergent. I answered no, and he punched me until I said yes. I woke up with wet cheeks.

I mean to say something, but all I can do is groan. My body aches so badly it hurts to breathe. It doesn’t help that last night’s bout of crying made my eyes swell. Lucy offers me her hand.

The clock reads eight. We’re supposed to be at the tracks by eight fifteen.

“I’ll run and get us some breakfast. You just…get ready. Looks like it might take you a while,” she says.

I grunt. Trying not to bend at the waist, I fumble in the drawer under my bed for a clean shirt. Luckily Pereus isn’t here to see me struggle. Once Lucy leaves, the dormitory is empty.

I unbutton my shirt and stare at my bare side, which is patched with bruises. For a second, the colors mesmerize me, bright green and deep blue and purple. I change as fast as I can and let my hair hang loose because I can’t lift my arms to tie it back.

I look at my reflection in the small mirror on the back wall and see a stranger. It is a pinkette like me, with a round face like mine, but that’s where the similarities stop. I do not have a black eye, and a split lip, and a bruised jaw. I am not as pale as a sheet. This thing can’t possibly be me, though it moves when I move.

By the time Lucy comes back, a muffin in each hand, I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at my untied shoes. I will have to bend over to tie them. It will hurt lie hell when I bend over.

But Lucy just passes me a muffin and crouches in front of me to tie my shoes. Gratitude surges in my chest, warm and a little like an ache. Maybe there is some Abnegation in everyone, even if they don’t know it.

Well, in everyone but Pereus, ‘cuz he’s just a douche.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Well, we would never get there on time if you had to tie them yourself,” she says. “Come on. You can eat and walk at the same time, right?”

We walk fast toward the Pit. The muffin is banana-flavored, with walnuts. My mother baked bread like this once to give to the factionless, but I never got to try it. I was too old for coddling at that point. I ignore the wrench of my gut that comes every time I think of my mother and half walk, half jog after Lucy, who forgets that her legs are longer than mine.

We climb the steps from the Pit to the glass building above it and run to the exit. Every thump of my feet sends pain through my ribs, but I ignore it. We make it to the tracks just as the train arrives, its horn blaring.

“What took you so long?” Loki shouts over the horn.

“Stumpy Legs over here turned into an old lady overnight,” says Lucy.

“Oh, shut up.” I’m only half kidding.

Frost stands at the front of the pack, so close to the tracks that if he shifted even an inch forward, the train would take his nose with it. He steps back to let some of the others get on first. Loki hoists himself into the car with some difficulty, landing first on his stomach and then dragging his legs in behind him. Frost grabs the handle on the side of the car and pulls himself in smoothly, like he doesn’t have more than six feet of body to work with.

I jog next to the car, wincing, then grit my teeth and grab the handle on the side. This is going to hurt.

Jason grabs me under each arm and lifts me easily into the car. Pain shoots through my side, but it only lasts for a second. I see Pereus behind him, and my cheeks get warm. He was trying to be nice, so I smile at him, but I wish people didn’t want to be so nice. As if Pereus didn’t have enough ammunition already.

“Feeling okay there?” Pereus says, giving me a look of mock sympathy—his lips turned down, his arched eyebrows pulled in. “Or are you a little…Stiff?”

He bursts into laughter at his joke, and Jellal and a few others join in. Jellal has an ugly laugh, all snorting and shaking shoulders.

“We are all awed by your incredible wit,” says Loki.

“Yeah, are you sure you don’t belong with the Erudite, Pereus?” Lucy adds. “I hear they don’t object to sissies.”

Frost, standing in the doorway, speaks before Pereus can retort. “Am I going to have to listen to your bickering all the way to the fence?”

Everyone gets quiet, and Frost turns back to the car’s opening. He holds the handles on either side, his arms stretching wide, and leans forward so his body is mostly outside the car, though his feet stay planted inside. The wind presses his shirt to his chest. I try to look past him at what we’re passing—a sea of crumbling, abandoned buildings that get smaller as we go.

Every few seconds, though, my eyes shift back to Frost. I don’t know what I expect to see, or what I want to see, if anything. But I do it without thinking.

I ask Lucy, “What do you think is out there?” I nod to the doorway. “I mean, beyond the fence.”

She shrugs. “A bunch of farms, I guess.”

“Yeah, but I mean…past the farms. What are we guarding the city from?”

She wiggles her fingers at me. “Monsters!”

I roll my eyes at her idiocy.

“We didn’t even have guards near the fence until five years ago,” says   
Loki. “Don’t you remember when Dauntless police used to patrol the factionless sector?”

“Yes,” I say. I also remember that my father was one of the people who voted to get the Dauntless out of the factionless sector of the city. He said the poor didn’t need policing; they needed help, and we could give it to them. But I would rather not mention that now, or here. It’s one of the many things Erudite gives as evidence of Abnegation’s incompetence.

“Oh, right,” he says. “I bet you saw them all the time.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask, a little too sharply. I don’t want to be associated too closely with the factionless.

“Because you had to pass the factionless sector to get to school, right?”

“What did you do, memorize a map of the city for fun?” says Lucy.

“Yes,” says Loki, looking puzzled. “Didn’t you?”

The train’s brakes squeal, and we all lurch forward as the car slows. I am grateful for the movement; it makes standing easier. The dilapidated buildings are gone, replaced by yellow fields and train tracks. The train stops under an awning. I lower myself to the grass, holding the handle to keep me steady.

In front of me is a chain-link fence with barbed wire strung along the top. When I walk forward, I notice that it continues farther than I can see, perpendicular to the horizon. Past the fence is a cluster of trees, most of them dead, some green. Milling around on the other side of the fence are Dauntless guards carrying guns.

“Follow me,” says Frost. I stay close to Lucy. I don’t want to admit it, not even to myself, but I feel calmer when I’m near her. If Pereus tries to taunt me, she will defend me.

Silently I scold myself for being such a coward. Pereus’s insults shouldn’t bother me, and I should focus on getting better at combat, not on how badly I did yesterday. And I should be willing, if not able, to defend myself instead of relying on other people to do it for me.

Frost leads us toward the gate, which is as wide as a house and opens up to the cracked road that leads to the city. When I came here with my family as a child, we rode in a bus on that road and beyond, to Amity’s farms, where we spent the day picking tomatoes and sweating through our shirts.

Another pinch in my stomach.

“If you don’t rank in the top five at the end of initiation, you will probably end up here,” says Frost as he reaches the gate. “Once you are a fence guard, there is some potential for advancement, but not much. You may be able to go on patrols beyond Amity’s farms, but—”

“Patrols for what purpose?” asks Will.

Frost lifts a shoulder. “I suppose you’ll discover that if you find yourself among them. As I was saying. For the most part, those who guard the fence when they are young continue to guard the fence. If it comforts you, some of them insist that it isn’t as bad as it seems.”

“Yeah. At least we won’t be driving buses or cleaning up other people’s messes like the factionless,” Lucy whispers in my ear.

“What rank were you?” Pereus asks Frost.

I don’t expect Frost to answer, but he looks levelly at Pereus and says, “I was first.”

“And you chose to do this?” Pereus’s eyes are wide and round and dark aquamarine. They would look innocent to me if I didn’t know what a terrible person he is. “Why didn’t you get a government job?”

“I didn’t want one,” Frost says flatly. I remember what he said on the first day, about working in the control room, where the Dauntless monitor the city’s security. It is difficult for me to imagine him there, surrounded by computers. To me he belongs in the training room.

We learned about faction jobs in school. The Dauntless have limited options. We can guard the fence or work for the security of our city. We can work in the Dauntless compound, drawing tattoos or making weapons or even fighting each other for entertainment. Or we can work for the Dauntless leaders. That sounds like my best option.

The only problem is that my rank is terrible. And I might be factionless by the end of stage one.

We stop next to the gate. A few Dauntless guards glance in our direction but not many. They are too busy pulling the doors—which are twice as tall as they are and several times wider—open to admit a truck.

The man driving wears a hat, a beard, and a smile. He stops just inside the gate and gets out. The back of the truck is open, and a few other Amity sit among the stacks of crates. I peer at the crates—they hold apples.

“Natsumi?” an Amity boy says.

My head jerks at the sound of my name. One of the Amity in the back of the truck stands. He has long, anti-gravity silver hair and a familiar nose, wide at the tip and narrow at the bridge. Lyon. I try to remember him at the Choosing Ceremony and nothing comes to mind but the sound of my heart in my ears. Who else transferred? Did Sherria (or was it Chelia?)? Are there any Abnegation initiates this year? If Abnegation is fizzling, it’s our fault—Lyon’s and Wendy’s and mine. Mine. I push the thought from my mind.

Lyon hops down from the truck. He wears a gray T-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. After a second’s hesitation, he moves toward me and folds me in his arms. I stiffen. Only in Amity do people hug each other in greeting. I don’t move a muscle until he releases me.

His own smile fades when he looks at me again. “Natsumi, what happened to you? What happened to your face?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Just training. Nothing.”

“Natsumi?” demands a nasal voice next to me. Jellal folds his arms and laughs. “Is that your real name, Stiff?”

I glance at him. “What did you think Natsu was short for?”

“Oh, I don’t know…weakling?” He touches his chin. If his chin was bigger, it might balance out his nose, but it is weak and almost recedes into his neck. “Oh wait, that doesn’t start with Natsu. My mistake.”

“There’s no need to antagonize her,” Lyon says softly. “I’m Lyon, and you are?”

“Someone who doesn’t care what your name is,” she says. “Why don’t you get back in your truck? We’re not supposed to fraternize with other faction members.”

“Why don’t you get away from us then, moron?” I snap.

“Right. Wouldn’t want to get between you and your boyfriend,” he says. He walks away smiling.

Lyon gives me a sad look. “They don’t seem like nice people.”

“Some of them aren’t.”

“You could go home, you know. I’m sure Abnegation would make an exception for you.”

“What makes you think I want to go home?” I ask, my cheeks hot. “You think I can’t handle this or something?”

“It’s not that.” He shakes his head. “It’s not that you can’t, it’s that you shouldn’t have to. You should be happy.”

“This is what I chose. This is it.” I look over Lyon’s shoulder. The Dauntless guards seem to have finished examining the truck. The bearded man gets back into the driver’s seat and closes the door behind him. “Besides, Lyon. The goal of my life isn’t just…to be happy.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if it was, though?” he says.

Before I can answer, he touches my shoulder and turns toward the truck. A girl in the back has a banjo on her lap. She starts to strum it as Lyon hoists himself inside, and the truck starts forward, carrying the banjo sounds and her warbling voice away from us.

Lyon waves to me, and again I see another possible life in my mind’s eye. I see myself in the back of the truck, singing with the girl, though I’ve never sung before, laughing when I am off-key, climbing trees to pick the apples, always peaceful and always safe.

The Dauntless guards close the gate and lock it behind them. The lock is on the outside. I bite my lip. Why would they lock the gate from the outside and not the inside? It almost seems like they don’t want to keep something out; they want to keep us in.

I push the thought out of my head. That makes no sense.

Frost steps away from the fence, where he was talking to a female Dauntless guard with a gun balanced on her shoulder a moment before. “I am worried that you have a knack for making unwise decisions,” he says when he’s a foot away from me.

I cross my arms. “It was a two-minute conversation.”

“I don’t think a smaller time frame makes it any less unwise.” He furrows his eyebrows and touches the corner of my bruised eye with his fingertips. My head jerks back, but he doesn’t take his hand away. Instead he tilts his head and sighs. “You know, if you could just learn to attack first, you might do better.”

“Attack first?” I say. “How will that help?”

“You’re fast. If you can get a few good hits in before they know what’s going on, you could win.” He shrugs, and his hand falls.

“I’m surprised you know that,” I say quietly, “since you left halfway through my one and only fight.”

“It wasn’t something I wanted to watch,” he says.

What’s that supposed to mean?

He clears his throat. “Looks like the next train is here. Time to go, Natsu.”

 

I crawl across my mattress and heave a sigh. It has been two days since my fight with Pereus, and my bruises are turning purple-blue. I have gotten used to aching every time I move, so now I move better, but I’m still far from healed.

Even though I am still injured, I had to fight again today. Luckily this time, I was paired against Rouge, who couldn’t throw a good punch if someone was controlling his arm for him. I got a good hit in during the first two minutes. He fell down and was too dizzy to get back up. I should feel triumphant, but there is no triumph in punching a guy like Rouge.

The second I touch my head to the pillow, the door to the dormitory opens, and people stream into the room with flashlights. I sit up, almost hitting my head on the bed frame above me, and squint through the dark to see what’s going on.

“Everybody up!” someone roars. A flashlight shines behind his head, making the rings in his ears glint. Gajeel. Surrounding him are other Dauntless, some of whom I have seen in the Pit, some of whom I have never seen before. Frost stands among them.

His eyes shift to mine and stay there. I stare back and forget that all around me the transfers are getting out of bed.

“Did you go deaf, Stiff?” demands Gajeel. I snap out of my daze and slide out from beneath the blankets. I am glad I sleep fully clothed, because Lucy stands next to our bunk wearing only a T-shirt, her long legs bare. She folds her arms and stares at Gajeel. I wish, suddenly, that I could stare so boldly at someone with hardly any clothes on, but I would never be able to do that.

“You have five minutes to get dressed and meet us by the tracks,” says Gajeel. “We’re going on another field trip.”

I shove my feet into shoes and sprint, wincing, behind Lucy on the way to the train. A drop of sweat rolls down the back of my neck as we run up the paths along the walls of the Pit, pushing past members on our way up. They don’t seem surprised to see us. I wonder how many frantic, running people they see on a weekly basis.

We make it to the tracks just behind the Dauntless-born initiates. Next to the tracks is a black pile. I make out a cluster of long gun barrels and trigger guards.

“Are we going to shoot something?” Lucy hisses in my ear.

Next to the pile are boxes of what looks like ammunition. I inch closer to read one of the boxes. Written on it is “PAINTBALLS.”

I’ve never heard of them before, but the name is self-explanatory. I laugh.

“Everyone grab a gun!” shouts Gajeel.

We rush toward the pile. I am the closest to it, so I snatch the first gun I can find, which is heavy, but not too heavy for me to lift, and grab a box of paintballs. I shove the box in my pocket and sling the gun across my back so the strap crosses my chest.

“Time estimate?” Gajeel asks Frost.

Frost checks his watch. “Any minute now. How long is it going to take you to memorize the train schedule?”

“Why should I, when I have you to remind me of it?” says Gajeel, shoving Frost’s shoulder.

A circle of light appears on my left, far away. It grows larger as it comes closer, shining against the side of Frost’s face, creating a shadow in the faint hollow beneath his cheekbone.

He is the first to get on the train, and I run after him, not waiting for Lucy or Loki or Jason to follow me. Frost turns around as I fall into stride next to the car and holds out a hand. I grab his arm, and he pulls me in. Even the muscles in his forearm are taut, defined. I really need to stop drooling already.

I let go quickly, without looking at him, and sit down on the other side of the car.

Once everyone is in, Frost speaks up.

“We’ll be dividing into two teams to play capture the flag. Each team will have an even mix of members, Dauntless-born initiates, and transfers. One team will get off first and find a place to hide their flag. Then the second team will get off and do the same.” The car sways, and Frost grabs the side of the doorway for balance. “This is a Dauntless tradition, so I suggest you take it seriously.”

“What do we get if we win?” someone shouts.

“Sounds like the kind of question someone not from Dauntless would ask,” says Frost, raising an eyebrow. “You get to win, of course.”

“Frost and I will be your team captains,” says Gajeel. He looks at Frost. “Let’s divide up transfers first, shall we?”

I tilt my head back. If they’re picking us, I will be chosen last; I can feel it.

“You go first,” Frost says.

Gajeel shrugs. “Troy.”

Frost leans against the door frame and nods. The moonlight makes his eyes bright. He scans the group of transfer initiates briefly, without calculation, and says, “I want the Stiff.”

A faint undercurrent of laughter fills the car. Heat rushes into my cheeks. I don’t know whether to be angry at the people laughing at me or flattered by the fact that he chose me first.

“Got something to prove?” asks Gajeel, with his trademark smirk. “Or are you just picking the weak ones so that if you lose, you’ll have someone to blame it on?”

Frost shrugs. “Something like that.”

Angry. I should definitely be angry. I scowl at my hands. Whatever Frost’s strategy is, it’s based on the idea that I am weaker than the other initiates. And it gives me a bitter taste in my mouth. I have to prove him wrong—I have to.

“Your turn,” says Frost.

“Pereus.”

“Lucy.”

That throws a wrench in his strategy. Lucy is not one of the weak ones. What exactly is he doing?

“Jellal.”

“Loki,” says Frost, biting his thumbnail.

“Jason.”

“Sting.”

“Last one left is Rouge. So he’s with me,” says Gajeel. “Dauntless-born initiates next.”

I stop listening once they’re finished with us. If Frost isn’t trying to prove something by choosing the weak, what is he doing? I look at each person he chooses. What do we have in common? What makes us so special?

Once they’re halfway through the Dauntless-born initiates, I have an idea of what it is. With the exception of Will and a couple of the others, we all share the same body type: narrow shoulders, small frames. All the people on Gajeel’s team are broad and strong. Just yesterday, Frost told me I was fast. We will all be faster than Gajeel’s team, which will probably be good for capture the flag—I haven’t played before, but I know it’s a game of speed rather than brute force. I cover a smile with my hand. Gajeel is more ruthless than Frost, but Frost is smarter. Undoubtedly.

They finish choosing teams, and Gajeel smirks at Frost.

“Your team can get off second,” says Gajeel.

“Don’t do me any favors,” Frost replies. He smirks a little. “You know I don’t need them to win.”

“No, I know that you’ll lose no matter when you get off,” says Gajeel, biting down briefly on one of the rings in his lip. “Take your scrawny team and get off first, then.”

We all stand up. Jason gives me a forlorn look, and I smile back in what I hope is a reassuring way. If any of the Frost of us had to end up on the same team as Gajeel, Pereus, and Jellal, at least it was him. They usually leave him alone.

The train is about to dip to the ground. I am determined to land on my feet.

Just before I jump, someone shoves my shoulder, and I almost topple out of the train car. I don’t look back to see who it is—Jellal, Troy, or Pereus, it doesn’t matter which one. Before they can try it again, I jump. This time I am ready for the momentum the train gives me, and I run a few steps to diffuse it but keep my balance. Fierce pleasure courses through me and I smile. It’s a small accomplishment, but it makes me feel Dauntless.

One of the Dauntless-born initiates touches Frost’s shoulder and asks, “When your team won, where did you put the flag?”

“Telling you wouldn’t really be in the spirit of the exercise, Evergreen,” he says coolly.

“Come on, Frost,” she whines. She gives him a flirtatious smile. He brushes her hand off his arm, and for some reason, I find myself grinning.

“Navy Pier,” another Dauntless-born initiate calls out. He is tall, with brown skin and dark eyes and white hair. Handsome. “My brother was on the winning team. They kept the flag at the carousel.”

“Let’s go there, then,” suggests Will.

No one objects, so we walk east, toward the marsh that was once a lake. When I was young, I tried to imagine what it would look like as a lake, with no fence built into the mud to keep the city safe. But it is difficult to imagine that much water in one place, especially when you’ve never seen anything bigger than a puddle.

“We’re close to Erudite headquarters, right?” asks Lucy, bumping Loki’s shoulder with her own.

“Yeah. It’s just south of here,” he says. He looks over his shoulder, and for a second his expression is full of longing. Then it’s gone.

I am less than a mile away from my sister. It has been a week since we were that close together. I shake my head a little to get the thought out of my mind. I can’t think about her today, when I have to focus on making it through stage one. I can’t think about my family any day.

We walk across the bridge. We still need the bridges because the mud beneath them is too wet to walk on. I wonder how long it’s been since the river dried up.

Once we cross the bridge, the city changes. Behind us, most of the buildings were in use, and even if they weren’t, they looked well-tended. In front of us is a sea of crumbling concrete and broken glass. The silence of this part of the city is eerie; it feels like a nightmare. It’s hard to see where I’m going, because it’s after midnight and all the city lights are off.

Evergreen takes out a flashlight and shines it at the street in front of us.

“Scared of the dark, Ever?” the dark-eyed Dauntless-born initiate teases.

“If you want to step on broken glass, Elfman, be my guest,” she snaps. But she turns it off anyway.

I have realized that part of being Dauntless is being willing to make things more difficult for yourself in order to be self-sufficient. There’s nothing especially brave about wandering dark streets with no flashlight, but we are not supposed to need help, even from light. We are supposed to be capable of anything.

I like that. Because there might come a day when there is no flashlight, there is no gun, there is no guiding hand. And I want to be ready for it.

The buildings end just before the marsh. A strip of land juts out into the marsh, and rising from it is a giant white wheel with dozens of red passenger cars dangling from it at regular intervals. The Ferris wheel.

“Think about it. People used to ride that thing. For fun,” says Loki, shaking his head.

“They must have been Dauntless,” I say.

“Yeah, but a lame version of Dauntless.” Lucy laughs. “A Dauntless Ferris wheel wouldn’t have cars. You would just hang on tight with your hands, and good luck to you.”

We walk down the side of the pier. All the buildings on my left are empty, their signs torn down and their windows closed, but it is a clean kind of emptiness. Whoever left these places left them by choice and at their leisure. Some places in the city are not like that.

“Dare you to jump into the marsh,” says Lucy to Loki.

“You first.”

We reach the carousel. Some of the horses are scratched and weathered, their tails broken off or their saddles chipped. Frost takes the flag out of his pocket.

“In ten minutes, the other team will pick their location,” he says. “I suggest you take this time to formulate a strategy. We may not be Erudite, but mental preparedness is one aspect of your Dauntless training. Arguably, it is the most important aspect.”

He is right about that. What good is a prepared body if you have a scattered mind?

Loki takes the flag from Frost.

“Some people should stay here and guard, and some people should go out and scout the other team’s location,” Loki says.

“Yeah? You think?” Evergreen plucks the flag from his fingers. “Who put you in charge, transfer?”

“No one,” says Loki. “But someone’s got to do it.”

“Maybe we should develop a more defensive strategy. Wait for them to come to us, then take them out,” suggests Lucy.

“That’s the sissy way out,” Elfman says. “I vote we go all out. Hide the flag well enough that they can’t find it.”

Everyone bursts into the conversation at once, their voices louder with each passing second. Lucy defends Loki’s plan; the Dauntless-born initiates vote for offense; everyone argues about who should make the decision. Frost sits down on the edge of the carousel, leaning against a plastic horse’s foot. His eyes lift to the sky, where there are no stars, only a round moon peeking through a thin layer of clouds. The muscles in his arms are relaxed; his hand rests on the back of his neck. He looks almost comfortable, holding that gun to his shoulder.

I close my eyes briefly. Why does he distract me so easily? I need to focus.

What would I say if I could shout above the sniping behind me? We can’t act until we know where the other team is. They could be anywhere within a two-mile radius, although I can rule out the empty marsh as an option. The best way to find them is not to argue about how to search for them, or how many to send out in a search party.

It’s to climb as high as possible.

I look over my shoulder to make sure no one is watching. None of them look at me, so I walk toward the Ferris wheel with light, quiet footsteps, pressing my gun to my back with one hand to keep it from making noise.

When I stare up at the Ferris wheel from the ground, my throat feels tighter. It is taller than I thought, so tall I can barely see the cars swinging at the top. The only good thing about its height is that it is built to support weight. If I climb it, it won’t collapse beneath me.

My heart pumps faster. Will I really risk my life for this—to win a game the Dauntless like to play?

It’s so dark I can barely see them, but when I stare at the huge, rusted supports holding the wheel in place, I see the rungs of a ladder. Each support is only as wide as my shoulders, and there are no railings to hold me in, but climbing a ladder is better than climbing the spokes of the wheel.

I grab a rung. It’s rusty and thin and feels like it might crumble in my hands. I put my weight on the lowest rung to test it and jump to make sure it will hold me up. The movement hurts my ribs, and I wince.

“Natsu,” a low voice says behind me. I don’t know why it doesn’t startle me. Maybe because I am becoming Dauntless, and mental readiness is something I am supposed to develop? Maybe because his voice is low and smooth and almost soothing? Whatever the reason, I look over my shoulder. Frost stands behind me with his gun slung across his back, just like mine.

“Yes?” I say.

“I came to find out what you think you’re doing.”

“I’m seeking higher ground,” I say. “I don’t think I’m doing anything.”

I see his smile in the dark. “All right. I’m coming.”

I pause a second. He doesn’t look at me the way Loki, Lucy, and Jason sometimes do—like I am too small and too weak to be of any use, and they pity me for it. But if he insists on coming with me, it is probably because he doubts me.

“I’ll be fine,” I say.

“Undoubtedly,” he replies. I don’t hear the sarcasm, but I know it’s there. It has to be. There’s no way he could mean that.

I climb, and when I’m a few feet off the ground, he comes after me. He moves faster than I do, and soon his hands find the rungs that my feet leave.

“So tell me…,” he says quietly as we climb. He sounds breathless. “What do you think the purpose of this exercise is? The game, I mean, not the climbing.”

I stare down at the pavement. It seems far away now, but I’m not even a third of the way up. Above me is a platform, just below the center of the wheel. That’s my destination. I don’t even think about how I will climb back down. The breeze that brushed my cheeks earlier now presses against my side. The higher we go, the stronger it will get. I need to be ready.

“Learning about strategy,” I say. “Teamwork, maybe.”

“Teamwork,” he repeats. A laugh hitches in his throat. It sounds like a panicked breath.

“Maybe not,” I say. “Teamwork doesn’t seem to be a Dauntless priority.”

The wind is stronger now. I press closer to the white support so I don’t fall, but that makes it hard to climb. Below me the carousel looks small. I can barely see my team under the awning. Some of them are missing—a search party must have left.

Frost says, “It’s supposed to be a priority. It used to be.”

But I’m not really listening, because the height is dizzying. My hands ache from holding the rungs, and my legs are shaking, but I’m not sure why. It isn’t the height that scares me—the height makes me feel alive with energy, every organ and vessel and muscle in my body singing at the same pitch.

Then I realize what it is. It’s him. Something about him makes me feel like I am about to fall. Or turn to liquid. Or burst into flames.

My hand almost misses the next rung.

“Now tell me…,” he says through a bursting breath, “what do you think learning strategy has to do with…bravery?”

The question reminds me that he is my instructor, and I am supposed to learn something from this. A cloud passes over the moon, and the light shifts across my hands.

“It…it prepares you to act,” I say finally. “You learn strategy so you can use it.” I hear him breathing behind me, loud and fast. “Are you all right, Frost?”

“Are you human, Natsu? Being up this high…” He gulps for air. “It doesn’t scare you at all?”

I look over my shoulder at the ground. If I fall now, I will die. But I don’t think I will fall.

A gust of air presses against my left side, throwing my body weight to the right. I gasp and cling to the rungs, my balance shifting. Frost’s cold hand clamps around one of my hips, one of his fingers finding a strip of bare skin just under the hem of my T-shirt. He squeezes, steadying me and pushing me gently to the left, restoring my balance.

Now I can’t breathe. I pause, staring at my hands, my mouth dry. I feel the ghost of where his hand was, his fingers long and narrow.

“You okay?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” I say, my voice strained.

I keep climbing, silently, until I reach the platform. Judging by the blunted ends of metal rods, it used to have railings, but it doesn’t anymore. I sit down and scoot to the end of it so Frost has somewhere to sit. Without thinking, I put my legs over the side. Frost, however, crouches and presses his back to the metal support, breathing heavily.

“You’re afraid of heights,” I say. “How do you survive in the Dauntless compound?”

“I ignore my fear,” he says. “When I make decisions, I pretend it doesn’t exist.”

I stare at him for a second. I can’t help it. To me there’s a difference between not being afraid and acting in spite of fear, as he does.

I have been caught staring for too long.

“What?” he says quietly.

“Nothing.”

I look away from him and toward the city. I have to focus. I climbed up here for a reason.

The city is pitch-black, but even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be able to see very far. A building stands in my way.

“We’re not high enough,” I say. I look up. Above me is a tangle of white bars, the wheel’s scaffolding. If I climb carefully, I can wedge my feet between the supports and the crossbars and stay secure. Or as secure as possible.

“I’m going to climb,” I say, standing up. I grab one of the bars above my head and pull myself up. Shooting pains go through my bruised sides, but I ignore them.

“For God’s sake, Stiff,” he says.

“You don’t have to follow me,” I say, staring at the maze of bars above me. I shove my foot onto the place where two bars cross and push myself up, grabbing another bar in the process. I sway for a second, my heart beating so hard I can’t feel anything else. Every thought I have condenses into that heartbeat, moving at the same rhythm.

“Yes, I do,” he says.

This is crazy, and I know it. A fraction of an inch of mistake, half a second of hesitation, and my life is over. Heat tears through my chest, and I smile as I grab the next bar. I pull myself up, my arms shaking, and force my leg under me so I’m standing on another bar. When I feel steady, I look down at Frost. But instead of seeing him, I see straight to the ground.

I can’t breathe.

I imagine my body plummeting, smacking into the bars as it falls down, and my limbs at broken angles on the pavement, just like Mira’s sister when she didn’t make it onto the roof. Frost grabs a bar with each hand and pulls himself up, easy, like he’s sitting up in bed. But he is not comfortable or natural here—every muscle in his arm stands out. It is a stupid thing for me to think when I am one hundred feet off the ground.

I grab another bar, find another place to wedge my foot. When I look at the city again, the building isn’t in my way. I’m high enough to see the skyline. Most of the buildings are black against a navy sky, but the red lights at the top of the Hub are lit up. They blink half as fast as my heartbeat.

Beneath the buildings, the streets look like tunnels. For a few seconds I see only a dark blanket over the land in front of me, just faint differences between building and sky and street and ground. Then I see a tiny pulsing light on the ground.

“See that?” I say, pointing.

Frost stops climbing when he’s right behind me and looks over my shoulder, his chin next to my head. His breaths flutter against my ear, and I feel shaky again, like I did when I was climbing the ladder.

“Yeah,” he says. A smile spreads over his face.

“It’s coming from the park at the end of the pier,” he says. “Figures. It’s surrounded by open space, but the trees provide some camouflage. Obviously not enough.”

“Okay,” I say. I look over my shoulder at him. We are so close I forget where I am; instead I notice that the corners of his mouth turn down naturally, just like mine, and that he has a scar on his forehead.

“Um,” I say. I clear my throat. “Start climbing down. I’ll follow you.”

Frost nods and steps down. His leg is so long that he finds a place for his foot easily and guides his body between the bars. Even in darkness, I see that his hands are bright red and shaking.

I step down with one foot, pressing my weight into one of the crossbars. The bar creaks beneath me and comes loose, clattering against half a dozen bars on the way down and bouncing on the pavement. I’m dangling from the scaffolding with my toes swinging in midair. A strangled gasp escapes me.

“Frost!”

I try to find another place to put my foot, but the nearest foothold is a few feet away, farther than I can stretch. My hands are sweaty. I remember wiping them on my slacks before the Choosing Ceremony, before the aptitude test, before every important moment, and suppress a scream. I will slip. I will slip.

“Hold on!” he shouts. “Just hold on, I have an idea.”

He keeps climbing down. He’s moving in the wrong direction; he should be coming toward me, not going away from me. I stare at my hands, which are wrapped around the narrow bar so tightly my knuckles are white. My fingers are dark red, almost purple. They won’t last long.

I won’t last long.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Better not to look. Better to pretend that none of this exists. I hear Frost’s sneakers squeak against metal and rapid footsteps on ladder rungs.

“Frost!” I yell. Maybe he left. Maybe he abandoned me. Maybe this is a test of my strength, of my bravery. I breathe in my nose and out my mouth. I count my breaths to calm down. One, two. In, out. Come on, Frost is all I can think. Come on, do something. Pull yourself up Natsu. Hurry up!

Then I hear something wheeze and creak. The bar I’m holding shudders, and I scream through my clenched teeth as I fight to keep my grip.

The wheel is moving.

Air wraps around my ankles and wrists as the wind gushes up, like a geyser. I open my eyes. I’m moving—toward the ground. I laugh, giddy with hysteria as the ground comes closer and closer. But I’m picking up speed. If I don’t drop at the right time, the moving cars and metal scaffolding will drag at my body and carry me with them, and then I will really die.

Every muscle in my body tenses as I hurtle toward the ground. When I can see the cracks in the sidewalk, I drop, and my body slams into the ground, feet first. My legs collapse beneath me and I pull my arms in, rolling as fast as I can to the side. The cement scrapes my face, and I turn just in time to see a car bearing down on me, like a giant shoe about to crush me. I roll again, and the bottom of the car skims my shoulder.

I’m safe.

I press my palms to my face. I don’t try to get up. If I did, I’m sure I would just fall back down. I hear footsteps, and Frost’s hands wrap around my wrists. I let him pry my hands from my eyes.

He encloses one of my hands perfectly between two of his. The warmth of his skin overwhelms the ache in my fingers from holding the bars.

“You all right?” he asks, pressing our hands together.

“Yeah.”

He starts to laugh.

After a second, I laugh too. With my free hand, I push myself to a sitting position. I am aware of how little space there is between us—six inches at most. That space feels charged with electricity. I feel like it should be smaller.

He stands, pulling me up with him. The wheel is still moving, creating a wind that tosses my hair back.

“You could have told me that the Ferris wheel still worked,” I say. I try to sound casual. “We wouldn’t have had to climb in the first place.”

“I would have, if I had known,” he says. “Couldn’t just let you hang there, so I took a risk. Come on, time to get their flag.”

Frost hesitates for a moment and then takes my arm, his fingertips pressing to the inside of my elbow. In other factions, he would give me time to recover, but he is Dauntless, so he smiles at me and starts toward the carousel, where our team members guard our flag. And I half run, half limp beside him. I still feel weak, but my mind is awake, especially with his hand on me.

Lucy is perched on one of the horses, her long legs crossed and her hand around the pole holding the plastic animal upright. Our flag is behind her, a glowing triangle in the dark. Three Dauntless-born initiates stand among the other worn and dirty animals. One of them has his hand on a horse’s head, and a scratched horse eye stares at me between his fingers. Sitting on the edge of the carousel is an older Dauntless, scratching her quadruple-pierced eyebrow with her thumb.

“Where’d the others go?” asks Frost.

He looks as excited as I feel, his eyes wide with energy.

“Did you guys turn on the wheel?” the older girl says. “What the hell are you thinking? You might as well have just shouted ‘Here we are! Come and get us!’” She shakes her head. “If I lose again this year, the shame will be unbearable. Three years in a row?”

“The wheel doesn’t matter,” says Frost. “We know where they are.”

“We?” says Lucy, looking from Frost to me.

“Yes, while the rest of you were twiddling your thumbs, Natsu climbed the Ferris wheel to look for the other team,” he says.

“What do we do now, then?” asks one of the Dauntless-born initiates through a yawn.

Frost looks at me. Slowly the eyes of the other initiates, including Lucy, migrate from him to me. I tense my shoulders, about to shrug and say I don’t know, and then an image of the pier stretching out beneath me comes into my mind. I have an idea.

“Split in half,” I say. “Four of us go to the right side of the pier, three to the left. The other team is in the park at the end of the pier, so the group of four will charge as the group of three sneaks behind the other team to get the flag.”

Lucy looks at me like she no longer recognizes me. I don’t blame her.

“Sounds good,” says the older girl, clapping her hands together. “Let’s get this night over with, shall we?”

Lucy joins me in the group going to the right, along with Elfman, whose smile looks white against his skin’s bronze. I didn’t notice before, but he has a tattoo of a snake behind his ear and a scar through his right eye. I stare at its tail curling around his earlobe for a moment, but then Lucy starts running and I have to follow her.

I have to run twice as fast to match my short strides to her long ones. As I run, I realize that only one of us will get to touch the flag, and it won’t matter that it was my plan and my information that got us to it if I’m not the one who grabs it. Though I can hardly breathe as it is, I run faster, and I’m on Lucy’s heels. I pull my gun around my body, holding my finger over the trigger.

We reach the end of the pier, and I clamp my mouth shut to keep my loud breaths in. We slow down so our footsteps aren’t as loud, and I look for the blinking light again. Now that I’m on the ground, it’s bigger and easier to see. I point, and Lucy nods, leading the way toward it.

Then I hear a chorus of yells, so loud they make me jump. I hear puffs of air as paintballs go flying and splats as they find their targets. Our team has charged, the other team runs to meet us, and the flag is almost unguarded. Elfman takes aim and shoots the last guard in the thigh. The guard, a short girl with purple hair, throws her gun to the ground in a tantrum.

I sprint to catch up to Lucy. The flag hangs from a tree branch, high above my head. I reach for it, and so does Lucy.

“Come on, Natsu,” she says. “You’re already the hero of the day. And you know you can’t reach it anyway.”

She gives me a patronizing look, the way people sometimes look at children when they act too adult, and tries to snatch the flag from the branch. I hear the branch creak and the limb falls to the ground. She grabs it before I can move. Without looking at me, she turns and gives a whoop of victory. Elfman’s voice joins hers and then I hear a chorus of yells in the distance.

Elfman claps my shoulder, and I try to forget about the look Lucy gave me. Maybe she’s right; I’ve already proved myself today. I do not want to be greedy; I do not want to be like Gajeel, terrified of other people’s strength.

The shouts of triumph become infectious, and I lift my voice to join in, running toward my teammates. Lucy holds the flag up high, and everyone clusters around her, grabbing her arm to lift the flag even higher. I can’t reach her, so I stand off to the side, grinning.

A hand touches my shoulder.

“Well done,” Frost says quietly.

“I can’t believe I missed it!” Loki says again, shaking his head. Wind coming through the doorway of the train car blows his hair in every direction.

“You were performing the very important job of staying out of our way,” says Lucy, beaming.

Jason groans. “Why did I have to be on the other team?”

“Because life’s not fair, Jason. And the world is conspiring against you,” says Loki. “Hey, can I see the flag again?”

Pereus, Jellal, and Troy sit across from the members in the corner. Their chests and backs are splattered with blue and pink paint, and they look dejected. They speak quietly, sneaking looks at the rest of us, especially Lucy. That is the benefit of not holding the flag right now—I am no one’s target. Or at least, no more than usual.

“So you climbed the Ferris wheel, huh,” says Elfman. He stumbles across the car and sits next to me. Evergreen, the girl with the flirty smile, follows him.

“Yes,” I say.

“Pretty smart of you. Like…Erudite smart,” Evergreen says. “I’m Evergreen.”

“Natsu,” I say. At home, being compared to an Erudite would be an insult, but she says it like a compliment.

“Yeah, I know who you are,” she says. “The first jumper tends to stick in your head.”

It has been years since I jumped off a building in my Abnegation uniform; it has been decades.

Elfman takes one of the paintballs from his gun and squeezes it between his thumb and index finger. The train lurches to the left, and Elfman falls against me, his fingers pinching the paintball until a stream of pink, foul-smelling paint sprays on my face.

Evergreen collapses in giggles. I wipe some of the paint from my face, slowly, and then smear it on his cheek. The scent of fish oil wafts through the train car.

“Ew!” He squeezes the ball at me again, but the opening is at the wrong angle, and the paint sprays into his mouth instead. He coughs and makes exaggerated gagging sounds.

I wipe my face with my sleeve, laughing so hard my stomach hurts.

If my entire life is like this, loud laughter and bold action and the kind of exhaustion you feel after a hard but satisfying day, I will be content. As Elfman scrapes his tongue with his fingertips, I realize that all I have to do is get through initiation, and that life will be mine.

 

The next morning, when I trudge into the training room, yawning, a large target stands at one end of the room, and next to the door is a table with knives strewn across it. Target practice again. At least it won’t hurt.

Gajeel stands in the middle of the room, his posture so rigid it looks like someone replaced his spine with a metal rod. The sight of him makes me feel like all the air in the room is heavier, bearing down on me. At least when he was slouched against a wall, I could pretend he wasn’t here. Today I can’t pretend.

“Tomorrow will be the last day of stage one,” Gajeel says. “You will resume fighting then. Today, you’ll be learning how to aim. Everyone pick up three knives.” His voice is deeper than usual. “And pay attention while Frost demonstrates the correct technique for throwing them.”

At first no one moves.

“Now!”

We scramble for daggers. They aren’t as heavy as guns, but they still feel strange in my hands, like I am not allowed to hold them. Like a bad omen.

“He’s in a bad mood today,” mumbles Lucy.

“Is he ever in a good mood?” I murmur back.

But I know what she means. Judging by the poisonous look Gajeel gives Frost when he isn’t paying attention, last night’s loss must have bothered Gajeel more than he let on. Winning capture the flag is a matter of pride, and pride is important to the Dauntless. More important than reason or sense.

I watch Frost’s arm as he throws a knife. The next time he throws, I watch his stance. He hits the target each time, exhaling as he releases the knife.

Gajeel orders, “Line up!”

Haste, I think, will not help. My mother told me that when I was learning how to knit. I have to think of this as a mental exercise, not a physical exercise. So I spend the first few minutes practicing without a knife, finding the right stance, learning the right arm motion.

Gajeel paces too quickly behind us.

“I think the Stiff’s taken too many hits to the head!” remarks Pereus, a few people down. “Hey, Stiff! Remember what a knife is?”

Ignoring him, I practice the throw again with a knife in hand but don’t release it. I shut out Gajeel’s pacing, and Pereus’s jeering, and the nagging feeling that Frost is staring at me, and throw the knife. It spins end over end, slamming into the board. The blade doesn’t stick, but I’m the first person to hit the target.

I smirk as Pereus misses again. I can’t help myself.

“Hey, Smart-ass,” I say. “Remember what a target is?”

Next to me, Lucy snorts, and her next knife hits the target.

A half hour later, Jason is the only initiate who hasn’t hit the target yet. His knives clatter to the floor, or bounce off the wall. While the rest of us approach the board to collect our weapons, he hunts the floor for his.

The next time he tries and misses, Gajeel marches toward him and demands, “How slow are you, Candor? Do you need glasses? Should I move the target closer to you?”

Jason’s face turns red. He throws another knife, and this one sails a few feet to the right of the target. It spins and hits the wall.

“What was that, initiate?” says Gajeel quietly, leaning closer to him.

I bite my lip. This isn’t good.

“It—it slipped,” says Jason.

“Well, I think you should go get it,” Gajeel says. He scans the other initiates’ faces—everyone has stopped throwing again—and says, “Did I tell you to stop?”

Knives start to hit the board. We have all seen Gajeel angry before, but this is different. The look in his eyes is almost rabid, pure madnesss.

“Go get it?” His eyes are wide. “But everyone’s still throwing.”

“And?”

“And I don’t want to get hit.”

“I think you can trust your fellow initiates to aim better than you.” Gajeel smiles a little, but his eyes stay cruel. “Go get your knife.”

Now Jason doesn’t usually object to anything the Dauntless tell us to do. I don’t think he’s afraid to; he just knows that objecting is useless. This time Jason sets his wide jaw. He’s reached the limits of his compliance.

“No,” he says.

“Why not?” Gajeel’s beady eyes fix on his’s face. “Are you afraid?”

“Of getting stabbed by an airborne knife?” says Jason “Yes, yes, I am!”

Honesty is his mistake. Not his refusal, which Gajeel might have accepted.

“Everyone stop!” Gajeel shouts.

The knives stop, and so does all conversation. I hold my small dagger tightly.

“Clear out of the ring.” Gajeel looks at him. “All except you.”

I drop the dagger and it hits the dusty floor with a thud. I follow the other initiates to the edge of the room, and they inch in front of me, eager to see what makes my stomach turn: Jason facing Gajeel’s wrath.

“Stand in front of the target,” says Gajeel.

Jason’s big hands shake. He walks back to the target.

“Hey, Frost.” Gajeel looks over his shoulder. “Give me a hand here, huh?”

Frost scratches one of his eyebrows with a knife point and approaches Gajeel. He has dark circles under his eyes and a tense set to his mouth—he’s as tired as we are.

“You’re going to stand there as he throws those knives,” Gajeel says to Jason, “until you learn not to flinch.”

“Is this really necessary?” says Frost. He sounds bored, but he doesn’t look bored. His face and body are tense, alert.

I squeeze my hands into fists. No matter how casual Frost sounds, the question is a challenge. And Frost doesn’t often challenge Gajeel directly.

At first Gajeel stares at Frost in silence. Frost stares back. Seconds pass and my fingernails bite my palms.

“I have the authority here, remember?” Gajeel says, so quietly I can barely hear him. “Here, and everywhere else.”

Color rushes into Frost’s face, though his expression does not change. His grip on the knives tightens and his knuckles turn white as he turns to face Jason.

I look from Jason’s wide, dark eyes to his shaking hands to the determined set of Frost’s jaw. Anger bubbles in my chest, and bursts from my mouth: “Stop it.”

Frost turns the knife in his hand, his fingers moving painstakingly over the metal edge. He gives me such a hard look that I feel like he’s turning me to stone. I know why. I am stupid for speaking up while Gajeel is here; I am stupid for speaking up at all.

“Any idiot can stand in front of a target,” I say. “It doesn’t prove anything except that you’re bullying us. Which, as I recall, is a sign of cowardice. True courage is facing your fears head on, not just standing there.”

“Then it should be easy for you,” Gajeel says. “If you’re willing to take his place.”

The last thing I want to do is stand in front of that target, but I can’t back down now. I didn’t leave myself the option. I weave through the crowd of initiates, and someone shoves my shoulder.

“There goes your pretty face,” hisses Pereus. “Oh, wait. You don’t have one.”

I recover my balance and walk toward Jason. He nods at me. I try to smile encouragingly, but I can’t manage it. I stand in front of the board, and my head doesn’t even reach the center of the target, but it doesn’t matter. I look at Frost’s knives: one in his right hand, two in his left hand.

My throat is dry. I try to swallow, and then look at Frost. He is never sloppy. He won’t hit me. I’ll be fine.

I tip my chin up. I will not flinch. If I flinch, I prove to Gajeel that this is not as easy as I said it was; I prove that I’m a coward.

“If you flinch,” Frost says, slowly, carefully, “He takes your place. Understand?”

I nod.

Frost’s eyes are still on mine when he lifts his hand, pulls his elbow back, and throws the knife. It is just a flash in the air, and then I hear a thud. The knife is buried in the board, half a foot away from my cheek. I close my eyes. Thank God.

“You about done, Stiff?” asks Frost.

I remember Jason’s wide eyes and his quiet sobs at night and shake my head. “No.”

“Eyes open, then.” He taps the spot between his eyebrows.

I stare at him, pressing my hands to my sides so no one can see them shake. He passes a knife from his left hand to his right hand, and I see nothing but his eyes as the second knife hits the target above my head. This one is closer than the last one—I feel it hovering over my skull.

“Come on, Stiff,” he says. “Let someone else stand there and take it.”

Why is he trying to goad me into giving up? Does he want me to fail?

“Shut up, Frost!”

I hold my breath as he turns the last knife in his hand. I see a glint in his eyes as he pulls his arm back and lets the knife fly. It comes straight at me, spinning, blade over handle. My body goes rigid. This time, when it hits the board, my ear stings, and blood tickles my skin. I touch my ear. He nicked it.

And judging by the look he gives me, he did it on purpose.

“I would love to stay and see if the rest of you are as daring as she is,” says Gajeel, his voice smooth, “but I think that’s enough for today.”

He squeezes my shoulder. His fingers feel dry and cold, and the look he gives me claims me, like he’s taking ownership of what I did. I don’t return Gajeel’s smile. What I did had nothing to do with him.

“I should keep my eye on you,” he adds.

Fear prickles inside me, in my chest and in my head and in my hands. I feel like the word “DIVERGENT” is branded on my forehead, and if he looks at me long enough, he’ll be able to read it. But he just lifts his hand from my shoulder and keeps walking.

Frost and I stay behind. I wait until the room is empty and the door is shut before looking at him again. He walks toward me.

“Is your—” he begins.

“You did that on purpose!” I shout.

“Yes, I did,” he says quietly. “And you should thank me for helping you.”

I grit my teeth. “Thank you? You almost stabbed my ear, and you spent the entire time taunting me. Why should I thank you?”

“You know, I’m getting a little tired of waiting for you to catch on!”

He glares at me, and even when he glares, his eyes look thoughtful. Their shade of blue is peculiar, so dark it is almost black, with a small patch of lighter blue on the left iris, right next to the corner of his eye.

“Catch on? Catch on to what? That you wanted to prove to Gajeel how tough you are? That you’re sadistic, just like he is?”

“I am not sadistic.” He doesn’t yell. I wish he would yell. It would scare me less. He leans his face close to mine, which reminds me of lying inches away from the attack dog’s fangs in the aptitude test, and says, “If I wanted to hurt you, don’t you think I would have already?”

He crosses the room and slams the point of a knife so hard into the table that it sticks there, handle toward the ceiling.

“I—” I start to shout, but he’s already gone. I scream, frustrated, and wipe some of the blood from my ear.


	9. Anger Management and Rankings

Today is the day right before Visiting Day. I think of Visiting Day like I think of the world ending: Nothing after it matters. Everything I do builds up to it. I might see my parents again. I might not. Which is worse? I really don’t know.

I try to pull a pant leg over my thigh and it sticks just above my knee. Frowning, I stare at my leg. A bulge of muscle is stopping the fabric. I let the pant leg fall and look over my shoulder at the back of my thigh. Another muscle stands out there.

I step to the side so I stand in front of the mirror. I see muscles that I couldn’t see before in my arms, legs, and stomach. I pinch my side, where a layer of fat used to cover my curves. Nothing. Dauntless initiation has stolen whatever softness my body had. Is that a good thing, or bad thing?

At least I am stronger than I was. I wrap my towel around me again and leave the girls’ bathroom. I hope no one is in the dormitory to see me walking in my towel, but I can’t wear those pants.

When I open the dormitory door, a weight drops into my stomach. Pereus, Jellal, Sting, and some of the other initiates stand in the back corner, laughing. They look up when I walk in and start snickering. Jellal’s snort-laugh is louder than everyone else’s.

I walk to my bunk, trying to pretend like they aren’t there, and fumble in the drawer under my bed for the dress Lucy made me get. One hand clamped around the towel and one holding the dress, I stand up, and right behind me is Pereus.

I jump back, almost hitting my head on Lucy’s bunk. I try to slip past him, but he slams his hand against Lucy’s bed frame, blocking my path. I should have known he wouldn’t let me get away that easily.

“Didn’t realize you were so well built, Stiff.”

“Get away from me.” My voice is somehow steady.

“This isn’t the Hub, you know. No one has to follow a Stiff’s orders here.” His eyes travel down my body, in the greedy way that a man looks at a woman,cruelly, scrutinizing every flaw. I hear my heartbeat in my ears as the others inch closer, forming a pack behind Pereus.

This will be bad.

I have to get out of here.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a clear path to the door. If I can duck under Pereus’s arm and sprint toward it, I might be able to make it.

“Look at her,” says Jellal, crossing her arms. She smirks at me. “She’s practically a grown woman.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” says Sting. “She could be hiding something else under that towel. Why don’t we look and see?”

Now. I duck under Pereus’s arm and dart toward the door. Something pinches and pulls at my towel as I walk away and then yanks sharply—Pereus’s hand, gathering the fabric into his fist. The towel slips from my hand and the air is cold on my naked body, making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. My exposed body for the world to see.

Laughter erupts, and I run as fast as I can toward the door, holding the dress against my body to hide it. I sprint down the hallway and into the bathroom and lean against the door, breathing hard. I close my eyes.

It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.

A sob bursts from my mouth, and I slap my hand over my lips to contain it. It doesn’t matter what they saw. I shake my head like the motion is supposed to make it true.

With shaking hands, I get dressed. The dress is plain black, with a V-neck that shows the tattoos on my collarbone, and goes down to my knees.

Once I’m dressed and the urge to cry is gone, I feel something hot and violent writhing in my stomach. I want to hurt them.

I stare at my eyes in the mirror. I want to, so I will.

I can’t fight in a dress, so I get myself some new clothes from the Pit before I walk to the training room for my last fight. I hope it’s with Pereus.

“Hey, where were you this morning?” Lucy asks when I walk in. I squint to see the blackboard across the room. The space next to my name is blank—I haven’t gotten an opponent yet.

“I got held up,” I say.

Frost stands in front of the board and writes a name next to mine. Please let it be Pereus, please, please….

“You okay, Natsu? You look a little…,” says Jason.

“A little what?”

Frost moves away from the board. The name written next to mine is Jellal. Not Pereus, but he’s good enough.

“On edge,” He says.

My fight is last on the list, which means I have to wait through three matches before I face him. Sting and Pereus fight second to last—good. Sting is the only one who can beat Pereus. Lucy will fight Jason, which means that he will lose quickly, like he’s been doing all week.

“Go easy on me, okay?” He asks Lucy.

“I make no promises,” she replies.

The first pair—Loki and Rouge—stand across from each other in the arena. For a second they both shuffle back and forth, one jerking an arm forward and then retracting it, the other kicking and missing. Across the room, Frost leans against the wall and yawns.

I stare at the board and try to predict the outcome of each match. It doesn’t take long. Then I bite my fingernails and think about Jellal. Lucy lost to him, which means he’s good.He has a powerful punch, but he doesn’t move his feet. If he can’t hit me, he can’t hurt me.

As expected, the next fight between Lucy and Jason is quick and painless. He falls after a few hard hits to the face and doesn’t get back up, which makes Gajeel shake his head.

Sting and Pereus take longer. Though they are the two best fighters, the disparity between them is noticeable. Sting’s fist slams into Pereus’s jaw, and I remember what Loki said about him—that he has been studying combat since he was ten. It’s obvious. He is faster and smarter than even Pereus.

By the time the three matches are done, my nails are bitten to the beds and I’m hungry for lunch. I walk to the arena without looking at anyone or anything but the center of the room. Some of my anger has faded, but it isn’t hard to call back. All I have to do is think about how cold the air was and how loud the laughter was. Look at her. She’s a grown woman.

Jellal stands across from me.

“Was that a birthmark I saw on your left butt cheek?” he says, smirking. “God, you’re tan, Stiff.”

He’ll make the first move. He always does.

Jellal starts toward me and throws his weight into a punch. As his body shifts forward, I duck and drive my fist into his stomach, right over his bellybutton. Before he can get his hands on me, I slip past him, my hands up, ready for the next attempt.

He’s not smirking anymore. He runs at me like he’s about to tackle me, and I dart out of the way. I hear Frost’s voice in my head, telling me that the most powerful weapon at my disposal is my elbow. I just have to find a way to use it.

I block his next punch with my forearm. The blow stings, but I barely notice it. He grits his teeth and lets out a frustrated groan, more animal-sounding than human. He tries a sloppy kick at my side, which I dodge, and while his balance is off, I rush forward and force my elbow up at his face. He pulls his head back just in time, and my elbow grazes his chin.

He punches me in the ribs and I stumble to the side, recovering my breath. There’s something he’s not protecting, I know it. I want to hit his face, but maybe that’s not a smart move. I watch him for a few seconds. His hands are too high; they guard his nose and cheeks, leaving the stomach and ribs exposed. Jellal and I have the same flaw in combat.

Our eyes meet for just a second.

I aim an uppercut low, below the bellybutton. My fist sinks into his flesh, forcing a heavy breath from his mouth that I feel against my ear. As he gasps, I sweep-kick his legs out from under him, and he falls hard on the ground, sending dust into the air. I pull my footback and kick as hard as I can at his ribs.

My mother and father would not approve of my kicking someone when their down.

I don’t care.

He curls into a ball to protect his side, and I kick again, this time hitting her in the stomach. Like a child. I kick again, this time hitting him in the face. Blood springs from his nose and spreads over his face. Look at her. Another kick hits her in the chest.

I really don't care.

I pull my foot back again, but Frost’s hands clamp around my arms, and he pulls me away from Jellal with irresistible force. I breathe through gritted teeth, staring at Jellal’s blood-covered face, the color deep and rich and beautiful, in a way. Much like death, or a fire.

He groans, and I hear a gurgling in his throat, watch blood trickle from his lips.

“You won,” Frost mutters. “Stop.”

I wipe the sweat from my forehead. He stares at me. His eyes are too wide; they look alarmed.

“I think you should leave,” he says. “Take a walk.”

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m fine now,” I say again, this time for myself.

I wish I could say I felt guilty for what I did.

I don’t.

In fact, I’ve never felt more at peace.

 

VISITING DAY. The second I open my eyes, I remember. My heart leaps and then plummets when I see Jellal hobble across the dormitory, his nose purple between strips of medical tape. Once I see him leave, I check for Pereus and Sting. Neither of them are in the dormitory, so I change quickly. As long as they aren’t here, I don’t care who sees me in my underwear, not anymore.

Everyone else dresses in silence. Not even Lucy smiles. We all know that we might go to the Pit floor and search every face and never find one that belongs to us.

I make my bed with the tight corners like my father taught me. As I pinch a stray hair from my pillow, Gajeel walks in.

“Attention!” he announces, flicking a lock of dark hair from his eyes. “I want to give you some advice about today. If by some miracle your families do come to visit you…” He scans our faces and smirks. “…which I doubt, it is best not to seem too attached. That will make it easier for you, and easier for them. We also take the phrase ‘faction before blood’ very seriously here. Attachment to your family suggests you aren’t entirely pleased with your faction, which would be shameful. Understand?”

I understand. I hear the threat in Gajeel’s sharp voice. The only part of that speech that Gajeel meant was the last part: We are Dauntless, and we need to act accordingly.

On my way out of the dormitory, Gajeel stops me.

“I may have underestimated you, Stiff,” he says. “You did well yesterday.”

I stare up at him. For the first time since I beat Jellal, guilt pinches my gut.

If Gajeel thinks I did something right, I must have done it wrong.

“Thank you,” I say. I slip out of the dormitory.

Once my eyes adjust to the dim hallway light, I see Lucy and Loki ahead of me, he is laughing, probably at a joke Lucy made. I don’t try to catch up. For some reason, I feel like it would be a mistake to interrupt them.

Jason is missing. I didn’t see him in the dormitory, and he’s not walking toward the Pit now. Maybe he’s already there.

I run my fingers through my hair and smooth it into a bun. I check my clothes—am I covered up? My pants are tight and my collarbone is showing. They won’t approve.

Who cares if they approve? I set my jaw. This is my faction now. These are the clothes my faction wears. I stop just before the hallway ends.

Clusters of families stand on the Pit floor, most of them Dauntless families with Dauntless initiates. They still look strange to me—a mother with a pierced eyebrow, a father with a tattooed arm, an initiate with purple hair, a wholesome family unit. I spot Sting and Jellal standing alone at one end of the room and suppress a smile. At least their families didn’t come.

But Pereus’s did. He stands next to a tall man with bushy eyebrows and a short, meek-looking woman with blond hair. Neither of his parents looks like him. They both wear black pants and white shirts, typical Candor outfits, and his father speaks so loudly I can almost hear him from where I stand. Do they know what kind of person their son is?

Then again…what kind of person am I?

Across the room, Loki stands with a woman in a blue dress. She doesn’t look old enough to be his mother, but she has the same crease between her eyebrows as he does, and the same golden-brown hair. He talked about having a sister once; maybe that’s her.

Next to him, Lucy hugs a dark-skinned woman in Candor black and white. Standing behind Lucy is a young girl, also a Candor. Her younger sister.

Should I even bother scanning the crowd for my parents? I could turn around and go back to the dormitory.

Then I see her. My mother stands alone near the railing with her hands clasped in front of her. She has never looked more out of place, with her gray slacks and gray jacket buttoned at the throat, her hair in its simple twist and her face placid. I start toward her, tears jumping into my eyes. She came. She came for me.

I walk faster. She sees me, and for a second her expression is blank, like she doesn’t know who I am. Then her eyes light up, and she opens her arms. She smells like soap and laundry detergent.

“Natsumi,” she whispers. She runs her hand over my hair.

Don’t cry, I tell myself. I hold her until I can blink the moisture from my eyes, and then pull back to look at her again. I smile with closed lips, just like she does. She touches my cheek.

“Well, look at you,” she says. “You’ve filled out.” She puts her arm across my shoulders. “Tell me how you are.”

“You first.” The old habits are back. I should let her speak first. I shouldn’t let the conversation stay focused on me for too long. I should make sure she doesn’t need anything.

“Today is a special occasion,” she says. “I came to see you, so let’s talk mostly about you. It is my gift to you.”

My selfless mother. She should not be giving me gifts, not after I left her and my father. I walk with her toward the railing that overlooks the chasm, glad to be close to her. The last week and a half has been more affectionless than I realized. At home we did not touch each other often, and the most I ever saw my parents do was hold hands at the dinner table, but it was more than this, more than here.

“Just one question.” I feel my pulse in my throat. “Where’s Dad? Is he visiting Wendy?”

“Ah.” She shakes her head. “Your father had to be at work.”

I look down. “You can tell me if he didn’t want to come.”

Her eyes travel over my face. “Your father has been selfish lately. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, I promise.”

I stare at her, stunned. My father—selfish? More startling than the label is the fact that she assigned it to him. I can’t tell by looking at her if she’s angry. I don’t expect to be able to. But she must be; if she calls him selfish, she must be angry.

“What about Wendy?” I say. “Will you visit her later?”

“I wish I could,” she says, “but the Erudite have prohibited Abnegation visitors from entering their compound. If I tried, I would be removed from the premises.”

“What?” I demand. “That’s terrible. Why would they do that?”

“Tensions between our factions are higher than ever,” she says. “I wish it wasn’t that way, but there is little I can do about it.”

I think of Wendy standing among the Erudite initiates, scanning the crowd for our mother, and feel a pang in my stomach. Part of me is still angry with her for keeping so many secrets from me, but I don’t want her to be hurt.

“That’s terrible,” I repeat. I look toward the chasm.

Standing alone at the railing is Frost. Though he’s not an initiate anymore, most of the Dauntless use this day to come together with their families. Either his family doesn’t like to come together, or he wasn’t originally Dauntless. Which faction could he have come from?

“There’s one of my instructors.” I lean closer to her and say, “He’s kind of intimidating.”

“He’s handsome,” she says.

I find myself nodding without thinking. She laughs and lifts her arm from my shoulders. I want to steer her away from him, but just as I’m about to suggest that we go somewhere else, he looks over his shoulder.

His eyes widen at the sight of my mother. She offers him her hand.

“Hello. My name is Grandeeney,” she says. “I’m Natsumi’s mother.”

I have never seen my mother shake hands with someone. Frost eases his hand into hers, looking stiff, and shakes it twice. The gesture looks unnatural for both of them. No, Frost was not originally Dauntless if he doesn’t shake hands easily.

“Frost,” he says. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Frost,” my mother repeats, smiling. “Is that a nickname?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate. What is his real name? “Your daughter is doing well here. I’ve been overseeing her training.”

Since when does “overseeing” include throwing knives at me and scolding me at every opportunity?

“That’s good to hear,” she says. “I know a few things about Dauntless initiation, and I was worried about her.”

He looks at me, and his eyes move down my face, from nose to mouth to chin. Then he says, “You shouldn’t worry.”

I can’t keep the heat from rushing into my cheeks. I hope it isn’t noticeable.

Is he just reassuring her because she’s my mother, or does he really believe that I am capable? And what did that look mean?

She tilts her head. “You look familiar for some reason, Frost.”

“I can’t imagine why,” he replies, his voice suddenly cold. “I don’t make a habit of associating with the Abnegation.”

My mother laughs. She has a light laugh, half air and half sound. “Few people do, these days. I don’t take it personally.”

He seems to relax a little. “Well, I’ll leave you to your reunion.”

My mother and I watch him leave. The roar of the river fills my ears. Maybe Frost was one of the Erudite, which explains why he hates Abnegation. Or maybe he believes the articles the Erudite release about us—them, I remind myself. But it was kind of him to tell her that I’m doing well when I know he doesn’t believe it.

“Is he always like that?” she says.

“Worse.”

“Have you made friends?” she asks.

“A few,” I say. I look over my shoulder at Loki and Lucy and their families. When Lucy catches my eye, she beckons to me, smiling, so my mother and I cross the Pit floor.

Before we can get to Loki and Lucy, though, a short, round woman with a black-and-white-striped shirt touches my arm. I twitch, resisting the urge to smack her hand away.

“Excuse me,” she says. “Do you know my son? Jason Grace?”

“Jason?” I repeat. “Oh—you mean Jason? Yes, I know him.”

“Do you know where we can find him?” she says, gesturing to a man behind her. He is tall and as thick as a boulder. Jason’s father, obviously.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see him this morning. Maybe you should look for him up there?” I point at the glass ceiling above us.

“Oh my,” Jason’s mother says, fanning her face with her hand. “I would rather not attempt that climb again. I almost had a panic attack on the way down here. Why aren’t there any railings along those paths? Are you all insane?”

I smile a little. A few weeks ago I might have found that question offensive, but now I spend too much time with Candor transfers to be surprised by tactlessness.

“Insane, no,” I say. “Dauntless, yes. If I see him, I’ll tell him you’re looking for him.”

My mother, I see, wears the same smile I do. She isn’t reacting the way some of the other transfers’ parents are—her neck bent, looking around at the Pit walls, at the Pit ceiling, at the chasm. Of course she isn’t curious—she’s Abnegation. Curiosity is foreign to her.

I introduce my mother to Loki and Lucy, and Lucy introduces me to her mother and her sister. But when Loki introduces me to Karen, his older sister, she gives me the kind of look that would wither a plant and does not extend her hand for me to shake. She glares at my mother.

“I can’t believe that you associate with one of them, Leo,” she says.

My mother purses her lips, but of course, doesn’t say anything.

“Karen,” he says, frowning, “there’s no need to be rude.”

“Oh, certainly not. Do you know what she is?” She points at my mother. “She’s a council member’s wife is what she is. She runs the ‘volunteer agency’ that supposedly helps the factionless. You think I don’t know that you’re just hoarding goods to distribute to your own faction while we don’t get fresh food for a month, huh? Food for the factionless, my eye.”

“I’m sorry,” my mother says gently. “I believe you are mistaken.”

“Mistaken. Ha,” Karen snaps. “I’m sure you’re exactly what you seem. A faction of happy-go-lucky do-gooders without a selfish bone in their bodies. Right.”

“Don’t speak to my mother that way,” I say, my face hot. I clench my hands into fists. “Don’t say another word to her or I swear I will break your nose.”

“Back off, Natsu,” Loki says. “You’re not going to punch my sister.”

“Oh?” I say, raising both eyebrows. “You think so?”

“No, you’re not.” My mother touches my shoulder. “Come on, Natsumi. We wouldn’t want to bother your friend’s sister.”

She sounds gentle, but her hand squeezes my arm so hard I almost cry out from the pain as she drags me away. She walks with me, fast, toward the dining hall. Just before she reaches it, though, she takes a sharp left turn and walks down one of the dark hallways I haven’t explored yet.

“Mom,” I say. “Mom, how do you know where you’re going?”

She stops next to a locked door and stands on her tiptoes, peering at the base of the blue lamp hanging from the ceiling. A few seconds later she nods and turns to me again.

“I said no questions about me. And I meant it. How are you really doing, Natsumi? How have the fights been? How are you ranked?”

“Ranked?” I say. “You know that I’ve been fighting? You know that I’m ranked?”

“It isn’t top-secret information, how the Dauntless initiation process works.”

I don’t know how easy it is to find out what another faction does during initiation, but I suspect it’s not that easy. Slowly, I say, “I’m close to the bottom, Mom.”

“Good.” She nods. “No one looks too closely at the bottom. Now, this is very important, Natsumi: What were your aptitude test results?”

Levy’s warning pulses in my head. Don’t tell anyone. I should tell her that my result was Abnegation, because that’s what Levy recorded in the system.

I look into my mother’s eyes, which are pale green and framed by a dark smudge of eyelashes. She has lines around her mouth, but other than that, she doesn’t look her age. Those lines get deeper when she hums. She used to hum as she washed the dishes.

This is my mother.

I can trust her.

“They were inconclusive,” I say softly.

“I thought as much.” She sighs. “Many children who are raised Abnegation receive that kind of result. We don’t know why. But you have to be very careful during the next stage of initiation, Natsumi. Stay in the middle of the pack, no matter what you do. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Do you understand?”

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“I don’t care what faction you chose,” she says, touching her hands to my cheeks. “I am your mother and I want to keep you safe.”

“Is this because I’m a—” I start to say, but she presses her hand to my mouth.

“Don’t say that word,” she hisses. “Ever.”

So Levy was right. Divergent is a dangerous thing to be. I just don’t know why, or even what it really means, still.

“Why?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t say.”

She looks over her shoulder, where the light from the Pit floor is barely visible. I hear shouts and conversations, laughter and shuffling footsteps. The smell from the dining hall floats over my nose, sweet and yeasty: baking bread. When she turns toward me, her jaw is set.

“There’s something I want you to do,” she says. “I can’t go visit your sister, but you can, when initiation is over. So I want you to go find her and tell her to research the simulation serum. Okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Not unless you explain some of this to me, Mom!” I cross my arms. “You want me to go hang out at the Erudite compound for the day, you had better give me a reason!”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” She kisses my cheek and brushes a lock of hair that fell from my bun behind my ear. “I should leave. It will make you look better if you and I don’t seem attached to each other.”

“I don’t care how I look to them,” I say.

“You should,” she says. “I suspect they are already monitoring you.”

She walks away, and I am too stunned to follow her. At the end of the hallway she turns and says, “Have a piece of cake for me, all right? The chocolate. It’s delicious.” She smiles a strange, twisted smile, and adds, “I love you, you know.”

And then she’s gone.

I stand alone in the blue light coming from the lamp above me, and I understand:

She has been to the compound before. 

She remembered this hallway. 

She knows about the initiation process.

My mother was Dauntless.

That afternoon, I go back to the dormitory while everyone else spends time with their families and find Jason sitting on his bed, staring at the space on the wall where the chalkboard usually is. Frost took it down yesterday so he could calculate our stage one rankings.

“There you are!” I say. “Your parents were looking for you. Did they find you?”

He shakes his head.

I sit down next to him on the bed. My leg is barely half the width of his, even now that it’s more muscular than it was. He wears black shorts. His knee is purple-blue with a bruise and crossed with a scar.

“You didn’t want to see them?” I say.

“Didn’t want them to ask how I was doing,” he says. “I’d have to tell them, and they would know if I was lying.”

“Well…” I struggle to come up with something to say. “What’s wrong with how you’re doing?”

He laughs harshly. “I’ve lost every fight since the one with Loki. I’m not doing well.”

“By choice, though. Couldn’t you tell them that, too?”

He shakes his head. “Dad always wanted me to come here. I mean, they said they wanted me to stay in Candor, but that’s only because that’s what they’re supposed to say. They’ve always admired the Dauntless, both of them. They wouldn’t understand if I tried to explain it to them.”

“Oh.” I tap my fingers against my knee. Then I look at him. “Is that why you chose Dauntless? Because of your parents?”

He shakes his head. “No. I guess it was because…I think it’s important to protect people. To stand up for people. Like you did for me.” He smiles at me. “That’s what the Dauntless are supposed to do, right? That’s what courage is. Not…hurting people for no reason.”

I remember what Frost told me, that teamwork used to be a Dauntless priority. What were the Dauntless like when it was? What would I have learned if I had been here when my mother was Dauntless? Maybe I wouldn’t have broken Jellal’s nose. Or threatened Loki’s sister.

I feel a pang of guilt. “Maybe it will be better once initiation is over.”

“Too bad I might come in last,” Jason says. “I guess we’ll see tonight.”

We sit side-by-side for a while. It’s better to be here, in silence, than in the Pit, watching everyone laugh with their families.

My father used to say that sometimes, the best way to help someone is just to be near them. I feel good when I do something I know he would be proud of, like it makes up for all the things I’ve done that he wouldn’t be proud of.

“I feel braver when I’m around you, you know,” he says. “Like I could actually fit in here, the same way you do.”

I am about to respond when he slides his arm across my shoulders. Suddenly I freeze, my cheeks hot.

I didn’t want to be right about Jason’s feelings for me. But I was.

I do not lean into him. Instead I sit forward so his arm falls away. Then I squeeze my hands together in my lap.

“Natsu, I…,” he says. His voice sounds strained. I glance at him. His face is as red as mine feels, but he’s not crying—he just looks embarrassed.

“Um…sorry,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to…um. Sorry.”

I wish I could tell him not to take it personally. I could tell him that my parents rarely held hands even in our own home, so I have trained myself to pull away from all gestures of affection, because they raised me to take them seriously. Maybe if I told him that, there wouldn’t be a layer of hurt beneath his flush of embarrassment.

But of course, it is personal. He is my friend—and that is all. What is more personal than that?

I breathe in, and when I breathe out, I make myself smile. “Sorry about what?” I ask, trying to sound casual. I brush off my jeans, though there isn’t anything on them, and stand up.

“I should go,” I say.

He nods and doesn’t look at me.

“You going to be okay?” I say. “I mean…because of your parents. Not because…” I let my voice trail off. I don’t know what I would say if I didn’t.

“Oh. Yeah.” He nods again, a little too vigorously. “I’ll see you later, Natsu.”

I try not to walk out of the room too fast. When the dormitory door closes behind me, I touch a hand to my forehead and grin a little. Awkwardness aside, it is nice to be liked.

Discussing our family visits would be too painful, so our final rankings for stage one are all anyone can talk about that night. Every time someone near me brings it up, I stare at some point across the room and ignore them.

My rank can’t be as bad as it used to be, especially after I beat Jellal, but it might not be good enough to get me in the top ten at the end of initiation, especially when the Dauntless-born initiates are factored in.

At dinner I sit with Lucy, Loki, and Jason at a table in the corner. We are uncomfortably close to Pereus, Sting, and Jellal, who are at the next table over. When conversation at our table reaches a lull, I hear every word they say. They are speculating about the ranks. What a surprise.

“You weren’t allowed to have pets?” Lucy demands, smacking the table with her palm. “Why not?”

“Because they’re illogical,” Loki says matter-of-factly. “What is the point in providing food and shelter for an animal that just soils your furniture, makes your home smell bad, and ultimately dies?”

Jason and I meet eyes, like we usually do when Loki and Lucy start to fight. But this time, the second our eyes meet, we both look away. I hope this awkwardness between us doesn’t last long. I want my friend back.

“The point is…” Lucy’s voice trails off, and she tilts her head. “Well, they’re fun to have. I had a bulldog named Chunker. One time we left a whole roasted chicken on the counter to cool, and while my mother went to the bathroom, he pulled it down off the counter and ate it, bones and skin and all. We laughed so hard.”

“Yes, that certainly changes my mind. Of course I want to live with an animal that eats all my food and destroys my kitchen.” Loki shakes his head. “Why don’t you just get a dog after initiation if you’re feeling that nostalgic?”

“Because.” Lucy’s smile falls, and she pokes at her potato with her fork. “Dogs are sort of ruined for me. After…you know, after the aptitude test.”

We exchange looks. We all know that we aren’t supposed to talk about the test, not even now that we have chosen, but for them that rule must not be as serious as it is for me. My heart jumps unsteadily in my chest. For me that rule is protection. It keeps me from having to lie to my friends about my results. Every time I think the word “Divergent,” I hear Levy’s warning—and now my mother’s warning too. Don’t tell anyone. Dangerous.

“You mean…killing the dog, right?” asks Loki.

I almost forgot. Those with an aptitude for Dauntless must have picked up the knife in the simulation and stabbed a dog. No wonder Lucy doesn’t want a pet dog anymore. I tug my sleeves over my wrists and twist my fingers together, trying not to show how out-of-place I feel.

“Yeah,” she says. “I mean, you guys all had to do that too, right?”

She looks first at Jason, and then at me. Her dark eyes narrow, and she says, “You didn’t.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re hiding something,” she says. “You’re fidgeting.”

“What?”

“In Candor,” says Jason, nudging me with his shoulder. There. That feels normal. “We learn to read body language so we know when someone is lying or keeping something from us.”

“Oh.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Well…”

“See, there it is again!” she says, pointing at my hand.

I feel like I’m swallowing my heartbeat. How can I lie about my results if they can tell when I’m lying? I’ll have to control my body language. I drop my hand and clasp my hands in my lap. Is that what an honest person does?

I have to lie about the dog, at least, but that’s it. “No, I didn’t kill the dog.”

“How did you get Dauntless without using the knife?” says Will, narrowing his eyes at me.

I look him in the eye and say evenly, “I didn’t. I got Abnegation.”

It is half-true. Levy reported my result as Abnegation, so that is what is in the system. Anyone who has access to the scores would be able to see it. I keep my eyes on his for a few seconds. Shifting them away might be suspicious. Then I shrug and stab a piece of meat with my fork. I hope they believe me. They have to believe me.

“But you chose Dauntless anyway?” Lucy says. “Why?”

“I told you,” I say, smirking. “It was the food.”

She laughs. “Did you guys know that Natsu had never seen a hamburger before she came here?”

She launches into the story of our first day, and my body relaxes, but I still feel heavy. I should not lie to my friends. It creates barriers between us, and we already have more than I want. Lucy taking the flag. Me rejecting Jason.

After dinner we go back to the dormitory, and it’s hard for me not to sprint, knowing that the rankings will be up when I get there. I want to get it over with. At the door to the dormitory, Sting shoves me into the wall to get past me. My shoulder scrapes on the stone, but I keep walking.

I’m too short to see over the crowd of initiates standing near the back of the room, but when I find a space between heads to look through, I see that the blackboard is on the ground, leaning against Frost’s legs, facing away from us. He stands with a piece of chalk in one hand.

“For those of you who just came in, I’m explaining how the ranks are determined,” he says. “After the first round of fights, we ranked you according to your skill level. The number of points you earn depends on your skill level and the skill level of the person you beat. You earn more points for improving and more points for beating someone of a high skill level. I don’t reward preying on the weak. That is cowardice.”

I think his eyes linger on Pereus at that last line, but they move on quickly enough that I’m not sure.

“If you have a high rank, you lose points for losing to a low-ranked opponent.”

Jellal lets out an unpleasant noise, like a snort or a grumble.

“Stage two of training is weighted more heavily than stage one, because it is more closely tied to overcoming cowardice,” he says. “That said, it is extremely difficult to rank high at the end of initiation if you rank low in stage one.”

I shift from one foot to the other, trying to get a good look at him. When I finally do, I look away. His eyes are already on me, probably drawn by my nervous movement.

“We will announce the cuts tomorrow,” Frost says. “The fact that you are transfers and the Dauntless-born initiates are not will not be taken into consideration. Four of you could be factionless and none of them. Or four of them could be factionless and none of you. Or any combination thereof. That said, here are your ranks.”

He hangs the board on the hook and steps back so we can see the rankings:

1\. Sting

2\. Pereus

3\. Loki

4\. Natsu

5\. Lucy

6\. Jellal

Fourth? I can’t be fourth. Beating Jellal must have boosted my rank more than I thought it would. And losing to me seems to have lowered his. I skip to the bottom of the list.

7\. Rouge

8\. Jason

9\. Troy

Jason isn’t dead last, but unless the Dauntless-born initiates completely failed their version of stage one of initiation, he is factionless.

I glance at Lucy. She tilts her head and frowns at the board. She isn’t the only one. The quiet in the room is uneasy, like it is rocking back and forth on a ledge.

Then it falls.

“What?” demands Jellal. She points at Lucy. “I beat her! I beat her in minutes, and she’s ranked above me?”

“Yeah,” says Lucy, crossing her arms. She wears a smug smile. “And?”

“If you intend to secure yourself a high rank, I suggest you don’t make a habit of losing to low-ranked opponents,” says Frost, his voice cutting through the mutters and grumbles of the other initiates. He pockets the chalk and walks past me without glancing in my direction. The words sting a little, reminding me that I am the low-ranked opponent he’s referring to.

Apparently they remind Jellal, too.

“You,” he says, focusing his narrowed eyes on me. “You are going to pay for this.”

I expect him to lunge at me, or hit me, but he just turns on her heel and stalks out of the dormitory, and that is worse. If he had exploded, his anger would have been spent quickly, after a punch or two. Leaving means he wants to plan something. Leaving means I have to be on my guard.

Pereus didn’t say anything when the rankings went up, which, given his tendency to complain about anything that doesn’t go his way, is surprising. He just walks to his bunk and sits down, untying his shoelaces. That makes me feel even more uneasy. He can’t possibly be satisfied with second place. Not Pereus.

Loki and Lucy slap hands, and then he claps me on the back with a hand bigger than my shoulder blade.

“Look at you. Number four,” he says, grinning.

“Still might not have been good enough,” I remind him.

“It will be, don’t worry,” he says. “We should celebrate.”

“Well, let’s go, then,” says Lucy, grabbing my arm with one hand and Jason’s arm with the other. “Come on, Jason. You don’t know how the Dauntless-borns did. You don’t know anything for sure.”

“I’m just going to go to bed,” he mumbles, pulling his arm free.

In the hallway, it is easy to forget about Jason and Jellal’s revenge and Pereus’s suspicious calm, and easy to pretend that what separates us as friends does not exist. But lingering at the back of my mind is the fact that Lucy and Loki are my competitors. If I want to fight my way to the top ten, I will have to beat them first.

I just hope I don’t have to betray them in the process.

That night I have trouble falling asleep. The dormitory used to seem loud to me, with all the breathing, but now it is too quiet. When it’s quiet, I think about my family. Thank God the Dauntless compound is usually loud.

If my mother was Dauntless, why did she choose Abnegation? Did she love its peace, its routine, its goodness—all the things I miss, when I let myself think about it?

I wonder if someone here knew her when she was young and could tell me what she was like then. Even if they did, they probably wouldn’t want to discuss her. Faction transfers are not really supposed to discuss their old factions once they become members. It’s supposed to make it easier for them to change their allegiance from family to faction—to embrace the principle “faction before blood.”

I bury my face in the pillow. She asked me to tell Wendy to research the simulation serum—why? Does it have something to do with me being Divergent, with me being in danger, or is it something else? I sigh. I have a thousand questions, and she left before I could ask any of them. Now they swirl in my head, and I doubt I’ll be able to sleep until I can answer them.

I hear a scuffle across the room and lift my head from the pillow. My eyes aren’t adjusted to the dark, so I stare into pure black, like the backs of my eyelids. I hear shuffling and the squeak of a shoe. A heavy thud.

And then a wail that curdles my blood and makes my hair stand on end. I throw the blankets back and stand on the stone floor with bare feet. I still can’t see well enough to find the source of the scream, but I see a dark lump on the floor a few bunks down. Another scream pierces my ears.

“Turn on the lights!” someone shouts.

I walk toward the sound, slowly so I don’t trip over anything. I feel like I’m in a trance. I don’t want to see where the screaming is coming from. A scream like that can only mean blood and bone and pain; that scream that comes from the pit of the stomach and extends to every inch of the body.

The lights come on.

Sting lies on the floor next to his bed, clutching at his face. Surrounding his head is a halo of blood, and jutting between his clawing fingers is a silver knife handle. My heart thumping in my ears, I recognize it as a butter knife from the dining hall. The blade is stuck in Sting’s eye.

Rouge, who stands at Sting’s feet, screams. Someone else screams too, and someone yells for help, and Sting is still on the floor, writhing and wailing. I crouch by his head, my knees pressing to the pool of blood, and put my hands on his shoulders.

“Lie still,” I say. I feel calm, though I can’t hear anything, like my head is submerged in water. Sting thrashes again and I say it louder, sterner. “I said, lie still. Breathe.”

“My eye!” he screams.

I smell something foul. Someone vomited.

“Take it out!” he yells. “Get it out, get it out of me, get it out!”

I shake my head and then realize that he can’t see me. A laugh bubbles in my stomach. Hysterical. I have to suppress hysteria if I’m going to help him. I have to forget myself.

Be Abnegation for once.

“No,” I say. “You have to let the doctor take it out. Hear me? Let the doctor take it out. And breathe.”

“It hurts,” he sobs.

“I know it does.” Instead of my voice I hear my mother’s voice. I see her crouching before me on the sidewalk in front of our house, brushing tears from my face after I scraped my knee. I was five at the time.

“It will be all right.” I try to sound firm, like I’m not idly reassuring him, but I am. I don’t know if it will be all right. I suspect that it won’t.

When the nurse arrives, she tells me to step back, and I do. My hands and knees are soaked with blood. When I look around, I see that only two faces are missing.

Sting.

And Pereus.


	10. Preparations and Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy potatoes on a stick, guys I am so sorry for my hella long haitus. I was busy in Colorado and school jut started up again, so I wasn't able to post during the summer. As of now, my posting is still irregular, but I'll try to at least post once a month. Again, sorry for the lack of updates and for the grammar and spelling mistakes. If you catch a mistake please tell me about it so that I can correct it.

After they take Sting away, I carry a change of clothes into the bathroom and wash my hands. Lucy comes with me and stands by the door, but she doesn’t say anything, and I’m glad. There isn’t much to say, really.

I scrub at the lines in my palms and run one fingernail under my other fingernails to get the blood out. I change into the pants I brought and throw the bloodied ones in the trash. I get as many paper towels as I can hold and a bleach i find in the women's restroom. Someone needs to clean up the mess in the dormitory, and since I doubt I’ll ever be able to sleep again tonight, it might as well be me.

As I reach for the door handle, Lucy says, “You know who did that, right?”

“Yeah, it's kinda obvious.”

“Should we tell someone?”

“You really think the Dauntless will do anything?” I say. “After they hung you over the chasm? After they made us beat each other unconscious? After they made us jump from what, 15 stories to our probable doom?”

She doesn’t say anything after that.

For a half hour after that, I kneel alone on the floor in the dormitory and scrub at Sting’s blood. Lucy throws away the dirty paper towels and gets me new ones. Rouge is gone; he probably followed Sting to the infirmary.

No one sleeps much that night.

“This is going to sound weird,” Loki says, “but I wish we didn’t have a day off today.”

I nod. I know what he means. Having something to do would distract me, and I could use a distraction right now.

I have not spent much time alone with Loki, but Lucy and Jason are taking naps in the dormitory, and neither of us wanted to be in that room longer than we had to. He didn’t tell me that; I just have a feeling.

I slide one fingernail under another. I washed my hands thoroughly after cleaning up Sting’s blood, but I still feel like it’s on my hands.

He and I walk the halls of the Dauntless compound with no sense or purpose. There is nowhere to go.

“We could visit him,”he suggests. “But what would we say? ‘I didn’t know you that well, but I’m sorry you got stabbed in the eye’?”

It isn’t funny. I know that as soon as he says it, but a laugh rises in my throat anyway, and I let it out because it’s harder to keep it in. Loki stares at me for a second, and then he laughs too. Sometimes crying or laughing are the only options left, and laughing feels better right now.

“Sorry,” I say. “It’s just so ridiculous.”

I don’t want to cry for Sting—at least not in the deep, personal way that you cry for a friend or loved one. I want to cry because something terrible happened, and I saw it, and I could not see a way to mend it. No one who would want to punish Pereus has the authority to, and no one who has the authority to punish him would want to. The Dauntless have rules against attacking someone like that, but with people like Gajeel in charge, I suspect those rules go unenforced.

I say, more seriously, “The most ridiculous part is, in any other faction it would be brave of us to tell someone what happened. But here…in Dauntless…bravery won’t do us any good.”

“Have you ever read the faction manifestos?”he says.

The faction manifestos were written after the factions formed. We learned about them in school, but I never read them, at least without being forced to.

“You have?” I frown at him. Then I remember that he once memorized a map of the city for fun, and I say, “Oh. Of course you have. Never mind.”

“One of the lines I remember from the Dauntless manifesto is, ‘We believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another.’”

He sighs.

He doesn’t need to say anything else. I know what he means. Maybe Dauntless was formed with good intentions, with the right ideals and the right goals. But it has strayed far from them. And the same is true of Erudite, I realize. A long time ago, Erudite pursued knowledge and ingenuity for the sake of doing good. Now they pursue knowledge and ingenuity with greedy hearts. I wonder if the other factions suffer from the same problem. I have not thought about it before.

Despite the depravity I see in Dauntless, though, I could not leave it. It isn’t only because the thought of living factionless, in complete isolation, sounds like a fate worse than death. It is because, in the brief moments that I have loved it here, I saw a faction worth saving. Maybe we can become brave and honorable again.

“Let’s go to the cafeteria,” he says, “and eat cake.”

“Okay.” I smile.

As we walk toward the Pit, I repeat the line Loki quoted to myself so I don’t forget it.

I believe in ordinary acts of bravery, in the courage that drives one person to stand up for another.

It is a beautiful thought.

 

Later, when I return to the dormitory, Sting’s bunk is stripped clean and his drawers are open, empty. Across the room, Rouge’s bunk looks the same way.

When I ask Lucy where they went, she says, “They quit.”

“Even Rouge?”

“He said he didn’t want to be here without him. He was going to get cut anyway.” She shrugs, like she can’t think of anything else to do. If that’s true, I know how he feels. “At least they didn’t cut Jason.”

He was supposed to get cut, but Sting’s departure saved him. The Dauntless decided to spare him until the next stage.

“Who else got cut?” I say.

Lucy shrugs again. “Two of the Dauntless-born. I don’t remember their names.”

I nod and look at the blackboard. Someone Sting a line through Sting and Rouge’s names, and changed the numbers next to everyone else’s names. Now Pereus is first. Loki is second. I am third. We started stage one with nine initiates.

Now we have seven.

 

¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬¬

It’s noon and lunch time.

I sit in a hallway I don’t recognize. I walked here because I needed to get away from the dormitory. Maybe if I bring my bedding here, I will never have to go to the dormitory again. It may be my imagination, but it still smells like blood in there, even though I scrubbed the floor until my hands were sore, and someone poured bleach on it this morning.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Scrubbing the floor when no one else wanted to was something that my mother would have done. If I can’t be with her, the least I can do is act like her sometimes.

I hear people approaching, their footsteps echoing on the stone floor, and I look down at my shoes. I switched from gray sneakers to black sneakers a week ago, but the gray shoes are buried in one of my drawers. I can’t bear to throw them away, even though I know it’s foolish to be attached to sneakers, like they can bring me home.

“Natsu?”

I look up. Elfman stops in front of me. He waves along the Dauntless-born initiates he walks with. They exchange looks but keep moving.

“You okay?” he says.

“I had a difficult night.”

“Yeah, I heard about that guy Sting.” Elfman looks down the hallway. The Dauntless-born initiates disappear around a corner. Then he grins a little. “Want to get out of here? To get a taste of the life of a Dauntless?”

“What?” I ask. “Where are you going?”

“To a little initiation ritual,” he says. “Come on. We have to hurry.”

I briefly consider my options. I can sit here. Or I can leave the Dauntless compound. Get to live a little.

I push myself to my feet and jog next to Elfman to catch up to the Dauntless-born initiates.

“The only initiates they usually let come are ones with older siblings in Dauntless,” he says. “But they might not even notice. Just act like you belong.”

“What exactly are we doing?”

“Something dangerous,” he says. A look I can only describe as Dauntless mania enters his eyes, but rather than recoil from it, as I might have a few weeks ago, I catch it, like it’s contagious. Excitement replaces the leaden feeling inside me. We slow when we reach the Dauntless-born initiates.

“What’s the Stiff doing here?” asks a boy with a metal ring between his nostrils.

“She just saw that guy get stabbed in the eye, Lonnie,” says Elfman. “Give her a break, okay?”

Lonnie shrugs and turns away. No one else says anything, though a few of them give me sidelong glances like they’re sizing me up. The Dauntless-born initiates are like a pack of dogs. If I act the wrong way, they won’t let me run with them. But for now, I am safe, and I can’t seem to care less.

We turn another corner, and a group of members stands at the end of the next hallway. There are too many of them to all be related to a Dauntless-born initiate, but I see some similarities among the faces.

“Let’s go,” one of the members says. He turns and plunges through a dark doorway. The other members follow him, and we follow them. I stay close behind Elfman as I pass into darkness and my toe hits a step. I catch myself before falling forward and start to climb.

“Back staircase,” Elfman says, almost mumbling. “Usually locked.”

I nod, though he can’t see me, and climb until all the steps are gone. By then, a door at the top of the staircase is open, letting in daylight. We emerge from the ground a few hundred yards from the glass building above the Pit, close to the train tracks.

I feel like I have done this a thousand times before. I hear the train horn. I feel the vibrations in the ground. I see the light attached to the head car. I crack my knuckles and alternate between spinning on my heel and bouncing on my toes.

We jog in a single pack next to the car, and in waves, members and initiates alike pile into the car. Elfman gets in before me, and people press behind me. I can’t make any mistakes; I throw myself sideways, grabbing the handle on the side of the car, and hoist myself into the car. Elfman grabs my arm to steady me.

The train picks up its speed. Elfman and I sit against one of the walls.

I shout over the wind, “Where are we going?”

Elfman shrugs. “Mira never told me.”

“Mira?”

“My older sister,” he says. He points across the room at a white-haired girl sitting in the doorway with her legs dangling out of the car. She is slight and short and looks nothing like Elfman, apart from her hair coloring.

I seem to remember her from somewhere but I can’t seem to remember from when or from where.

“You don’t get to know. That ruins the surprise!” the girl on my left shouts. She extends her hand. “I’m Kinana.”

I shake her hand, but I don’t grip hard enough and I let go too quickly. I doubt I will ever improve my handshake. It feels unnatural to grasp hands with strangers.

“I’m—” I start to say.

“I know who you are,” she says. “You’re the Stiff. Frost told me about you.”

I pray the heat in my cheeks is not visible. “Oh? What did he say?”

She smirks at me. “He said you were a Stiff. Why do you ask?”

“If my instructor is talking about me,” I say, as firmly as I can, “I want to know what he’s saying.” I hope I tell a convincing lie. “He isn’t coming, is he?”

“No. He never comes to this,” she says. “It’s probably lost its appeal. Not much scares him, you know.”

He isn’t coming. Something in me deflates like an untied balloon. I ignore it and nod. I do know that Frost is not a coward. But I also know that at least one thing does scare him: heights. Whatever we’re doing, it must involve being high up for him to avoid it. She must not know that if she speaks of him with such reverence in her voice.

“Do you know him well?” I ask. I am too curious; I always have been.

“Everyone knows Frost,” she says. “We were initiates together. I was bad at fighting, so he taught me every night after everyone was asleep.” She scratches the back of her neck, her expression suddenly serious. “Nice of him.”

She gets up and stands behind the members sitting in the doorway. In a second, her serious expression is gone, but I still feel rattled by what she said, half confused by the idea of Frost being “nice” and half wanting to punch her for no apparent reason.

“Here we go!” shouts Kinana. The train doesn’t slow down, but she throws herself out of the car. The other members follow her, a stream of black-clothed, pierced people not much older than I am. I stand in the doorway next to Elfman. The train is going much faster than it has every other time I’ve jumped, but I can’t lose my nerve now, in front of all these members. So I jump, hitting the ground hard and stumbling forward a few steps before I regain my balance.

Elfman and I jog to catch up to the members, along with the other initiates, who barely look in my direction.

I look around as I walk. The Hub is behind us, black against the clouds, but the buildings around me are dark and silent. That means we must be north of the bridge, where the city is abandoned.

We turn a corner and spread out as we walk down Michigan Avenue. South of the bridge, Michigan Avenue is a busy street, crawling with people, but here it is bare.

As soon as I lift my eyes to scan the buildings, I know where we’re going: the empty Hancock building, a black pillar with crisscrossed girders, the tallest building north of the bridge.

But what are we going to do? Climb it?

As we get closer, the members start to run, and Elfman and I sprint to catch them. Jostling one another with their elbows, they push through a set of doors at the building’s base. The glass in one of them is broken, so it is just a frame. I step through it instead of opening it and follow the members through an eerie, dark entryway, crunching broken glass beneath my feet.

I expect us to go up the stairs, but we stop at the elevator bank.

“Do the elevators work?” I ask Elfman, as quietly as I can.

“Sure they do,” says Mira, rolling her eyes. “You think I’m stupid enough not to come here early and turn on the emergency generator?”

“Yeah,” says Elfman. “I kinda do.”

Mira glares at her brother, then puts him in a headlock and rubs her knuckles into Elfman’s skull. Mira may be smaller than Elfman, but she must be stronger. Or at least faster. Elfman smacks her in the side, and she lets go.

I grin at the sight of Elfman’s disheveled hair, and the elevator doors open. We pile in, members in one and initiates in the other. A girl with a long mud-brown hair stomps on my toes on the way in and doesn’t apologize. I resist the urge to grab my foot, wincing internally, and consider kicking her in the shins. Elfman stares at his reflection in the elevator doors and pats his hair down.

“What floor?” the mud head says.

“One hundred,” I say.

“How would you know that?”

“Cana, come on,” says Elfman. “Be nice.”

“We’re in a one-hundred-story abandoned building with some Dauntless,” I retort. “Why don’t you know that?”

She doesn’t respond. She just jams her thumb into the right button.

The elevator zooms upward so fast my stomach sinks and my ears pop. I grab a railing at the side of the elevator, watching the numbers climb. We pass twenty, and thirty, and Elfman’s hair is finally smooth. Fifty, sixty, and my toes are done throbbing. Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, and the elevator comes to a stop at one hundred. I’m glad we didn’t take the stairs.

“I wonder how we’ll get to the roof from…” Elfman’s voice trails off.

A strong wind hits me, pushing my hair across my face. There is a gaping hole in the ceiling of the hundredth floor. Mira props an aluminum ladder against its edge and starts to climb. The ladder creaks and sways beneath her feet, but she keeps climbing, whistling as she does. When she reaches the roof, she turns around and holds the top of the ladder for the next person.

Part of me wonders if this is a suicide mission disguised as a game.

It isn’t the first time I’ve wondered that since the Choosing Ceremony.

I climb the ladder after Elfman. It reminds me of climbing the rungs on the Ferris wheel with Frost close at my heels. I remember his fingers on my hip again, how they kept me from falling, and I almost miss a step on the ladder. Stupid.

Biting my lip, I make it to the top and stand on the roof of the Hancock building.

The wind is so powerful I hear and feel nothing else. I have to lean against Elfman to keep from falling over. At first, all I see is the marsh, wide and brown and everywhere, touching the horizon, devoid of life. In the other direction is the city, and in many ways it is the same, lifeless and with limits I do not know.

Elfman points to something. Attached to one of the poles on top of the tower is a steel cable as thick as my wrist. On the ground is a pile of black slings made of tough fabric, large enough to hold a human being. Mira grabs one and attaches it to a pulley that hangs from the steel cable.

I follow the cable down, over the cluster of buildings and along Lake Shore Drive. I don’t know where it ends. One thing is clear, though: If I go through with this, I’ll find out.

We’re going to slide down a steel cable in a black sling from one thousand feet up.

“Oh my God,” says Elfman.

All I can do is nod.

Kinana is the first person to get in the sling. She wriggles forward on her stomach until most of her body is supported by black fabric. Then Mira pulls a strap across her shoulders, the small of her back, and the top of her thighs. He pulls her, in the sling, to the edge of the building and counts down from five. Kinana gives a thumbs-up as he shoves her forward, into nothingness.

Cana gasps as Kinana hurtles toward the ground at a steep incline, headfirst. I push past her to see better. Kinana stays secure in the sling for as long as I can see her, and then she’s too far away, just a black speck over Lake Shore Drive.

The members whoop and pump their fists and form a line, sometimes shoving one another out of the way to get a better place. Somehow I am the first initiate in line, right in front of Elfman. Only seven people stand between me and the zip line.

Still, there is a part of me that groans, I have to wait for seven people? It is a strange blend of terror and eagerness, unfamiliar until now. Well, ot really.

The next member, a young-looking boy with hair down to his shoulders, jumps into the sling on his back instead of his stomach. He stretches his arms wide as Mira shoves him down the steel cable.

None of the members seem at all afraid. They act like they have done this a thousand times before, and maybe they have. But when I look over my shoulder, I see that most of the initiates look pale or worried, even if they talk excitedly to one another. What happens between initiation and membership that transforms panic into delight? Or do people just get better at hiding their fear?

Three people in front of me. Another sling; a member gets in feet-first and crosses her arms over her chest. Two people. A tall, thick boy jumps up and down like a child before climbing into the sling and lets out a high screech as he disappears, making the girl in front of me laugh. One person.

She hops into the sling face-first and keeps her hands in front of her as Mira tightens her straps. And then it’s my turn.

I shudder as Mira hangs my sling from the cable. I try to climb in, but I have trouble; my hands are shaking too badly.

“Don’t worry,” Mira says right next to my ear. She takes my arm and helps me get in, facedown with my arms in front of me.

The straps tighten around my midsection, and Mira slides me forward, to the edge of the roof. I stare down the building’s steel girders and black windows, all the way to the cracked sidewalk. I am a fool for doing this. And a fool for enjoying the feeling of my heart slamming against my sternum and sweat gathering in the lines of my palms.

“Ready, Stiff?” Mira smirks down at me. “I have to say, I’m impressed that you aren’t screaming and crying right now.”

“I told you,” Elfman says. “She’s Dauntless through and through. Now get on with it.”

“Careful, brother, or I might not tighten your straps enough,” Mira says. She smacks her knee. “And then, splat!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Elfman says. “And then our mother would boil you alive.”

Hearing him talk about his mother, about his intact family, makes my chest hurt for a second, like someone pierced it with a needle.

“Only if she found out.” Mira tugs on the pulley attached to the steel cable. It holds, which is fortunate, because if it breaks, my death will be swift and certain. Mira looks down at me and says, “Ready, set, g—”

Before she can finish the word “go,” she releases the sling and I forget about her, I forget Elfman, and family, and all the things that could malfunction and lead to my death. I hear metal sliding against metal and feel wind so intense it forces tears into my eyes as I hurtle toward the ground.

I feel like I am without substance, without weight. Ahead of me the marsh looks huge, its patches of brown spreading farther than I can see, even up this high. The air is so cold and so fast that it hurts my face. I pick up speed and a shout of exhilaration rises within me, stopped only by the wind that fills my mouth the second my lips part.

Held secure by the straps, I throw my arms out to the side and imagine that I am flying. I plunge toward the street, which is cracked and patchy and follows perfectly the curve of the marsh. I can imagine, up here, how the marsh looked when it was full of water, like liquid steel as it reflected the color of the sky.

My heart beats so hard it hurts, and I can’t scream and I can’t breathe, but I also feel everything, every vein and every fiber, every bone and every nerve, all awake and buzzing in my body as if charged with electricity. I am pure adrenaline.

The ground grows and bulges beneath me, and I can see the tiny people standing on the pavement below. I should scream, like any rational human being would, but when I open my mouth again, I just crow with joy. I yell louder, and the figures on the ground pump their fists and yell back, but they are so far away I can barely hear them.

I look down and the ground smears beneath me, all gray and white and black, glass and pavement and steel. Tendrils of wind, soft as hair, wrap around my fingers and push my arms back. I try to pull my arms to my chest again, but I am not strong enough. The ground grows bigger and bigger.

I don’t slow down for another minute at least but sail parallel to the ground, like a bird.

When I slow down, I run my fingers over my hair. The wind teased it into knots. I hang about twenty feet above the ground, but that height seems like nothing now. I reach behind me and work to undo the straps holding me in. My fingers shake, but I still manage to loosen them. A crowd of members stands below. They grasp one another’s arms, forming a net of limbs beneath me.

In order to get down, I have to trust them to catch me. I have to accept that these people are mine, and I am theirs. It is a braver act than sliding down the zip line.

I wriggle forward and fall. I hit their arms hard. Wrist bones and forearms press into my back, and then palms wrap around my arms and pull me to my feet. I don’t know which hands hold me and which hands don’t; I see grins and hear laughter.

“What’d you think?” Kinana says, clapping me on the shoulder.

“Um…” All the members stare at me. They look as windblown as I feel, the frenzy of adrenaline in their eyes and their hair askew. I know why my father said the Dauntless were a pack of madmen. He didn’t—couldn’t—understand the kind of camaraderie that forms only after you’ve all risked your lives together.

“When can I go again?” I say. My smile stretches wide enough to show teeth, and when they laugh, I laugh. I think of climbing the stairs with the Abnegation, our feet finding the same rhythm, all of us the same. This isn’t like that. We are not the same. But we are, somehow, one.

I look toward the Hancock building, which is so far from where I stand that I can’t see the people on its roof.

“Look! There he is!” someone says, pointing over my shoulder. I follow the pointed finger toward a small dark shape sliding down the steel wire. A few seconds later I hear a bloodcurdling scream.

“I bet he’ll cry.”

“Mira’s brother, cry? No way. He would get punched so hard.”

“His arms are flailing!”

“He sounds like a strangled cat,” I say. Everyone laughs again. I feel a twinge of guilt for teasing Elfman when he can’t hear me, but I would have said the same thing if he were standing here. I hope.

When Elfman finally comes to a stop, I follow the members to meet him. We line up beneath him and thrust our arms into the space between us. Kinana clamps a hand around my elbow. I grab another arm—I’m not sure who it belongs to, there are too many tangled hands—and look up at her.

“Pretty sure we can’t call you ‘Stiff’ anymore,” Kinana says. She nods. “Natsu.”

I still smell like wind when I walk into the cafeteria that evening. For the second after I walk in, I stand among a crowd of Dauntless, and I feel like one of them. Then Kinana waves to me and the crowd breaks apart, and I walk toward the table where Lucy, Jason, and Loki sit, gaping at me.

I didn’t think about them when I accepted Elfman’s invitation. In a way, it is satisfying to see stunned looks on their faces. But I don’t want them to be upset with me either.

“Where were you?” asks Lucy. “What were you doing with them?”

“Elfman…you know, the Dauntless-born who was on our capture the flag team?” I say. “He was leaving with some of the members and he begged them to let me come along. They didn’t really want me there. Some girl named Cana stepped on me.”

“They may not have wanted you there then,” says Loki quietly, “but they seem to like you now.”

“Yeah,” I say. I can’t deny it. “I’m glad to be back, though.”

Hopefully they can’t tell I’m lying, but I suspect they can. I caught sight of myself in a window on the way into the compound, and my cheeks and eyes were both bright, my hair tangled. I look like I have experienced something powerful.

“Well, you missed Lucy almost punching an Erudite,” says Jason. His voice sounds eager. I can count on him to try to break the tension. “He was here asking for opinions about the Abnegation leadership, and Lucy told him there were more important things for him to be doing.”

“Which she was completely right about,” Loki says. “And he got testy with her. Big mistake.”

“Huge,” I say, nodding. If I smile enough, maybe I can make them forget their jealousy, or hurt, or whatever is brewing behind Lucy’s eyes.

“Yeah,” she says. “While you were off having fun, I was doing the dirty work of defending your old faction, eliminating inter-faction conflict…”

“Come on, you know you enjoyed it,” says Loki, nudging her with his elbow. “If you’re not going to tell the whole story, I will. He was standing…”

He launches into his story, and I nod along like I’m listening, but all I can think about is staring down the side of the Hancock building, and the image I got of the marsh full of water, restored to its former glory. I look over Loki’s shoulder at the members, who are now flicking bits of food at one another with their forks.

It’s the first time I have been really eager to be one of them.

Which means I have to survive the next stage of initiation.


	11. Feelings and Stage 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I need to rewrite and reread the book, so the next few updates will be small tidbits. Sorry for the long wait!

As far as I can tell, the second stage of initiation involves sitting in a dark hallway with the other initiates, wondering what’s going to happen behind a closed door.

Elfman sits across from me, with Evergreen on his left and Cana on his right. The Dauntless-born initiates and the transfers were separated during stage one, but we will be training together from now on. That’s what Frost told us before he disappeared behind the door.

“So,” says Evergreen, scuffing the floor with her shoe. “Which one of you is ranked first, huh?”

Her question is met with silence at first, and then Pereus clears his throat.

“Me,” he says.

“Bet I could take you.” She says it casually, turning the ring in her eyebrow with her fingertips. “I’m second, but I bet any of us could take you, transfer.”

I almost laugh. If I was still Abnegation, her comment would be rude and out of place, but among the Dauntless, challenges like that seem common. I am almost starting to expect them.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, if I were you,” Pereus says, his eyes glittering. “Who’s first?”

“Elfman,” she says. “And I am sure. You know how many years we’ve spent preparing for this?”

If she intends to intimidate us, it works. I already feel colder.

Before Pereus can respond, Frost opens the door and says, “Cana.” He beckons to her, and she walks down the hallway, the blue light at the end making her bare head glow.

“So you’re first,” Loki says to Elfman.

Elfman shrugs. “Yeah. And?”

“And you don’t think it’s a little unfair that you’ve spent your entire life getting ready for this, and we’re expected to learn it all in a few weeks?” Loki says, eyes narrowing.

“Not really. Stage one was about skill, sure, but no one can prepare for stage two,” he says. “At least, so I’m told.”

No one responds to that. We sit in silence for twenty minutes. I count each minute on my watch. Then the door opens again, and Frost calls another name.

“Pereus,” he says.

Each minute wears into me like a scrape of sandpaper. Gradually, our numbers begin to dwindle, and it’s just me and Elfman and Jellal’s leg bounces, and Elfman’s fingers tap against his knee, and I try to sit perfectly still. I hear only muttering from the room at the end of the hallway, and I suspect this is another part of the game they like to play with us. Terrifying us at every opportunity.

The door opens, and Frost beckons to me. “Come on, Natsu.”

I stand, my back sore from leaning against the wall for so long, and walk past the other initiates. Jellal sticks out his leg to trip me, but I hop over it at the last second.

Frost touches my shoulder to guide me into the room and closes the door behind me.

When I see what’s inside, I recoil immediately, my shoulders hitting his chest.

In the room is a reclining metal chair, similar to the one I sat in during the aptitude test. Beside it is a familiar machine. This room has no mirrors and barely any light. There is a computer screen on a desk in the corner.

“Sit,” Frost says. He squeezes my arms and pushes me forward.

“What’s the simulation?” I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I doubt I succeed.

“Ever hear the phrase ‘face your fears’?” he says. “We’re taking that literally. The simulation will teach you to control your emotions in the midst of a frightening situation.”

I touch a wavering hand to my forehead. Simulations aren’t real; they pose no real threat to me, so logically, I shouldn’t be afraid of them, but my reaction is visceral. It takes all the willpower I have for me to steer myself toward the chair and sit down in it again, pressing my skull into the headrest. The cold from the metal seeps through my clothes against my skin. The setting reminds me of a mental asylum from one of my history textbooks.

“Do you ever administer the aptitude tests?” I say. He seems qualified for it.

“No,” he replies. “I avoid Stiffs as much as possible.”

I don’t know why someone would avoid the Abnegation. The Dauntless or the Candor, maybe, because bravery and honesty make people do strange things, but the Abnegation?

“Why?”

“Do you ask me that because you think I’ll actually answer?”

“Why do you say vague things if you don’t want to be asked about them?”

His fingers brush my neck. My body tenses. A tender gesture? No—he has to move my hair to the side. He taps something, and I tilt my head back to see what it is. Frost holds a syringe with a long needle in one hand, his thumb against the plunger. The liquid in the syringe is tinted orange and bubbling.

“An injection?” My mouth goes dry. I don’t usually mind needles, but this one is huge, about the size of my forearm.

“We use a more advanced version of the simulation here,” he says, “a different serum, no wires or electrodes for you.”

“How does it work without wires?”

“Well, I have wires, so I can see what’s going on inside your head,” he says. “But for you, there’s a tiny transmitter in the serum that sends data to the computer.”

He turns my arm over and eases the tip of the needle into the tender skin of the juncture of my neck. A deep ache spreads through my throat. I wince and try to focus on his calm face.

“The serum will go into effect in sixty seconds. This simulation is different from the aptitude test,” he says. “In addition to containing the transmitter, the serum stimulates the amygdala, which is the part of the brain involved in processing negative emotions—like fear—and then induces a hallucination. The brain’s electrical activity is then transmitted to our computer, which then translates your hallucination into a simulated image that I can see and monitor. I will then forward the recording to Dauntless administrators. You stay in the hallucination until you calm down—that is, lower your heart rate and control your breathing until it is considered normal.”

I try to follow his words, but my thoughts are going haywire. I feel the trademark symptoms of fear: sweaty palms, racing heart, tightness in my chest, dry mouth, a lump in my throat, difficulty breathing. He plants his hands on either side of my head and leans over me.

“Be brave, Natsu,” he whispers. “The first time is always the hardest.”

His icy eyes are the last thing I see.

 

I stand in a field of dry grass that comes up to my waist. The air smells like smoke and burns my nostrils. Above me the sky is blood-colored, and the sight of it fills me with anxiety, my body cringing away from it instinctively.

I hear fluttering, like the pages of a book blown by the wind, but there is no wind, relative or otherwise. The air is still and soundless apart from the flapping, neither hot nor cold—not like air at all, but I can still breathe. Even if it is labored. A shadow swoops overhead.

Something lands on my shoulder. I feel its weight and the prick of talons and fling my arm forward to shake it off, my hand batting at it. I feel my palm skim something smooth and fragile. A feather. I bite my lip and look to my side. A black bird the size of my forearm turns its head and focuses one beady eye on me. A raven.

I grit my teeth and hit the raven again with my hand. It digs in its talons further into my arms but doesn't budge. I cry out, more frustrated than pained, and hit the crow with both hands, but it stays in place, resolute, one eye on me, feathers gleaming in the crimson light. Thunder rumbles and I hear the patter of rain on the ground, but no rain falls, instead I see droplets of red.

The sky darkens, like a cloud is passing over the sun. Still cringing away from the crow, I look up. A conspiracy* storms toward me, an advancing army of outstretched talons and open beaks, each one squawking, filling the air with noise and shrieks. The birds descend in a single mass, diving toward the earth, hundreds of beady black eyes shining, bodies slick with the red dew.

I convince myself that it is blood.

I try to run, but my feet are firmly planted and refuse to move, like the raven on my shoulder. I scream as they surround me, feathers flapping in my ears, beaks pecking at my shoulders, talons clinging to my clothes. I scream until tears cascade from my eyes, my arms flailing. My hands hit solid bodies but do nothing to damage my abusers; there are too many. 

I am alone. I am scared.

They nip at my fingertips and press against my body, wings sliding across the back of my neck, claws tearing at my hair and shredding my skin.

I twist and wrench away from them and fall to the ground, covering my head with my arms. They scream against me. I feel a wriggling in the grass, a raven forcing its way under my arm. I open my eyes and it pecks at my face, its beak hitting me in the nose. Blood drips onto the grass and I sob, hitting it with my palm, but another wedges itself under my other arm and its claws stick to the front of my shirt.

I am screaming; I am sobbing.

“Help!” I wail. “Help!” It's no use.

And they flap harder, a roar in my ears. My body burns, and they are everywhere, and I can’t think, I can’t breathe. I gasp for air and my mouth fills with feathers, feathers down my throat, in my lungs, replacing my blood with dead weight. I am going to die.

“Help,” I sob and scream, insensible, illogical. I am dying; I am dying; I am dying. I will die, murdered by the messengers of death**. How ironic.

My skin sears and I am bleeding, and the squawking is so loud my ears are ringing, but I am not dying, and I remember that it isn’t real, but it feels real, it feels so, so real. 

Be brave. 

Frost’s voice screams in my memory. I cry out to him, inhaling feathers and exhaling “Help!” But there will be no help; I am alone, a victim of my own mind.

You stay in the hallucination until you can calm down, his voice continues, and I cough, and my face is wet with tears, and another raven has wriggled under my arms, and I feel the edge of its sharp beak against my mouth. Its beak wedges past my lips and scrapes my teeth. The bird pushes its head into my mouth and I bite hard, tasting something foul. I spit and clench my teeth to form a barrier, but now a fourth is pushing at my feet, and a fifth is pecking at my ribs. A sixth is attacking my hair, soon joined by another.

Calm down. 

I can’t, I can’t.

My head throbs.

Calm down.

Another raven snakes its way into the crook of my neck and begins to claw at my ear.

Breathe. I keep my mouth closed and suck air into my nose. It has been hours since I was alone in the field; it has been days. I push air out of my nose. My heart pounds hard in my chest. I have to slow it down. I breathe again, my face wet with tears.

I sob again, and force myself forward, stretching out on the grass, which prickles against my skin. I extend my arms and breathe. The ravens push and prod at my sides, worming their way beneath me, I scream again.

The pain is overwhelming.

My body burns. I feel as if I am on fire, my blood churning under my skin, like magma, waiting for an eruption. I feel a twinge beneath my skin, as if it wants to escape. The ravens are coming even closer now, I can feel the one next to my ear, nipping at the cartilage. 

Pain.

All I feel is pain.

I find it unfair, that I am the one feeling pain, while the ravens are delivering it. While I am the one on the floor soaked in blood. And all I can feel is pain. Constricting my lungs. Tearing away at my skin. At my sanity.

Through the pain, the tears, and the rain, I begin to feel something stir within me.I feel strange. Detached. Isolated. Void of all feeling. Separated from the real world as if by a sheet of plastic. Suddenly I see a reflection of myself, through a mirror of sorts. Except it is broken in two. 

On one side I see myself, or what I think is myself, lying on the floor, in a puddle of anonymous blood, being mauled by the ravens. No, that’s not right. 

What I see is me, in a puddle of my own blood, surrounded by vultures, not ravens, and I watch as they feast upon my flesh. The blood-rain not affecting them at all. 

In the other half, I am surrounded by the ravens again, except everything is dead. I see them, charred beyond recognition, strewn about the field, the grass, burnt and aflame at the same time. I glance toward the sky, but it hasn’t changed, the sky still crimson and the blood-rain pouring. Only now, a red moon peers from the clouds. I analyze this version of myself next. I am covered in blood, with a halo of corpses and decaying grass, and I have smile on. It is not of madness, but of…relief? I see myself haunch over and let out a quiet laugh, a laugh of hysteria, and fear sparks within me. I see my reflection hold up its hand, and now I notice that his hands are aflame. I flinch as the fire spreads, covering most of 'my' arms. But my mirror self doesn’t seem to be burning or in pain. It’s like the fire is coming from me, her, him, them, it.

I hear the mirror shatter before it actually does. The shards of glass rain down, like crystals cascading unto the floor and just as they hit the ground, I am reintroduced to my body.

Instead now, I am lying on the field, the armada pecking and nipping at my hair and skin, only now, as I lay on the ground, do I feel a spark, a tiny spark, it’s so tiny, so insignificant, that I barely feel it at first, but the spark begins to burn and coil within my veins.

I feel a rush of hate and anger roll off of me in waves. I am reminded of the conspiracy, of the pain they are causing me, of the weakness I feel because of their assault, of the uselessness I feel.

I want them gone.

Erased. Obliterated.

I want to set them erased from existence. 

I want them to burn.

The spark spreads so that it consumes every fiber of my being, filling me with adrenaline. 

The last thing I see is red. 

Red eyes, bodies, and droplets. The last thing I hear is my own laugh, hysterical and anguished.

 

I open my eyes, and I am sitting in the metal chair.

I scream and hit my arms and head and legs to get the birds off me, but they are gone, though I can still feel the feathers brushing the back of my neck and the talons in my shoulder and my burning skin. I moan and pull my knees to my chest, burying my face in them.

A hand touches my shoulder, and I fling a fist out, hitting something solid but soft. “Don’t touch me you monsters!” I sob.

“It’s over,” Frost says. The hand shifts awkwardly over my hair, and I remember my father stroking my hair when he kissed me goodnight, my mother touching my hair when she trimmed it with the scissors. I run my palms along my arms, still brushing off feathers, though I know there aren’t any.

“Natsu.”

I rock back and forth in the metal chair, muttering incoherent babbles under my breath.

“Natsu, I’m going to take you back to the dorms, okay?”

“No!” I snap. I lift my head and glare at him, though I can’t see him through the blur of tears. “They can’t see me…not like this…”

“Oh, calm down,” he says. He rolls his eyes. “I’ll take you out the back door.”

“I don’t need you to…” I shake my head. My body is trembling and I feel so weak I’m not sure I can stand, but I have to try. I can’t be the only one who needs to be walked back to the dorms. Even if they don’t see me, they’ll find out, they’ll talk about me—

“Nonsense.”

He grabs my arm and hauls me out of the chair. I blink the tears from my eyes, wipe my cheeks with the palm of my hand, and let him steer me toward the door behind the computer screen.

We walk down the hallway in silence. When we’re a few hundred yards away from the room, I yank my arm away and stop.

“Why did you do that to me?” I say. “What was the point of that, huh? I wasn’t aware that when I chose Dauntless, I was signing up for weeks of torture!”

“Did you think overcoming cowardice would be easy?” he says calmly.

“That isn’t overcoming cowardice! Cowardice is how you decide to be in real life, and in real life, I am not getting pecked to death by birds of prey, Frost!” I press my palms to my face and sob into them.

He doesn’t say anything, just stands there as I cry. It only takes me a few seconds to stop and wipe my face again. “I want to go home,” I say weakly.

But home is not an option anymore. My choices are here or the factionless slums.

He doesn’t look at me with sympathy. He just looks at me. His eyes look black in the dim corridor, and his mouth is set in a hard line.

“Learning how to think in the midst of fear,” he says, “is a lesson that everyone, even your Stiff of a family, needs to learn. That’s what we’re trying to teach you. If you can’t learn it, you’ll need to get the hell out of here, because we won’t want you.”

“I’m trying.” My lower lip trembles. “But I failed. I’m failing.”

He sighs. “How long do you think you spent in that hallucination, Natsu?”

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “A half hour?”

“Three minutes,” he replies. “You got out three times faster than the other initiates. Whatever you are, you’re not a failure.”

Three minutes?

He smiles a little. “Tomorrow you’ll be better at this. You’ll see.”

“Tomorrow?”

He touches my back and guides me toward the dormitory. I feel his fingertips through my shirt. Their gentle pressure makes me forget the birds for a moment.

“What was your first hallucination?” I say, glancing at him.

“It wasn’t a ‘what’ so much as a ‘who.’” He shrugs. “It’s not important.”

“And are you over that fear now?”

“Not yet.” We reach the door to the dormitory, and he leans against the wall, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I may never be.”

“So they don’t go away?”

“Sometimes they do. And sometimes new fears replace them.” His thumbs hook around his belt loops. “But becoming fearless isn’t the point. That’s impossible. It’s learning how to control your fear, and how to be free from it, that’s the point.”

I nod. I used to think the Dauntless were fearless. That is how they seemed, anyway. But maybe what I saw as fearless was actually fear under control.

“Anyway, your fears are rarely what they appear to be in the simulation,” he adds.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, are you really afraid of birds?” he says, half smiling at me. The expression warms his eyes enough that I forget he’s my instructor. He’s just a boy, talking casually, walking me to my door. “When you see one, do you run away screaming?”

“No. I guess not.” I think about stepping closer to him, not for any practical reason, but just because I want to see what it would be like to stand that close to him; just because I want to.

Foolish, a voice in my head says.

I step closer and lean against the wall too, tilting my head sideways to look at him. As I did on the Ferris wheel, I know exactly how much space there is between us. Six inches. I lean. Less than six inches. I feel warmer, like he’s giving off some kind of energy that I am only now close enough to feel.

“So what am I really afraid of?” I say.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Only you can know.”

I nod slowly. There are a dozen things it could be, but I’m not sure which one is right, or if there’s even one right one.

“I didn’t know becoming Dauntless would be this difficult,” I say, and a second later, I am surprised that I said it; surprised that I admitted to it. I bite the inside of my cheek and watch Frost carefully. Was it a mistake to tell him that?

“It wasn’t always like this, I’m told,” he says, lifting a shoulder. My admission doesn’t appear to bother him. “Being Dauntless, I mean.”

“What changed?”

“The leadership,” he says. “The person who controls training sets the standard of Dauntless behavior. Six years ago Max and the other leaders changed the training methods to make them more competitive and more brutal, said it was supposed to test people’s strength. And that changed the priorities of Dauntless as a whole. Bet you can’t guess who the leaders’ new protégé is.”

The answer is obvious: Gajeel. They trained him to be vicious, and now he will train the rest of us to be vicious too.

I look at Frost. Their training didn’t work on him.

“So if you were ranked first in your initiate class,” I say, “what was Gajeel’s rank?”

“Second.”

“So he was their second choice for leadership.” I nod slowly. “And you were their first.”

“What makes you say that?”

“The way Gajeel was acting at dinner the first night. Jealous, even though he has what he wants.”

Frost doesn’t contradict me. I must be right. I want to ask why he didn’t take the position the leaders offered him; why he is so resistant to leadership when he seems to be a natural leader. But I know how Frost feels about personal questions.

I sniff, wipe my face one more time, and smooth down my hair.

“Do I look like I’ve been crying?” I say.

“Hmm.” He leans in close, narrowing his eyes like he’s inspecting my face. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Even closer, so we would be breathing the same air—if I could remember to breathe.

“No, Natsu,” he says. A more serious look replaces his smile as he adds, “You look tough as nails.”

 

When I walk in, most of the other initiates—Dauntless-born and transfer alike—are crowded between the rows of bunk beds with Pereus at their center. He holds a piece of paper in both hands.

“The mass exodus of the children of Abnegation leaders cannot be ignored or attributed to coincidence,” he reads. “The recent transfer of Natsumi and Wendy Dragneel, the children of Igneel Dragneel, calls into question the soundness of Abnegation’s values and teachings.”

Cold creeps up my spine. Lucy, standing on the edge of the crowd, looks over her shoulder and spots me. She gives me a worried look. I can’t move. My father. Now the Erudite are attacking my father.

“Why else would the children of such an important man decide that the lifestyle he has set out for them is not an admirable one?” Pereus continues. “Jellal Atwood, a fellow Dauntless transfer, suggests a disturbed and abusive upbringing might be to blame. ‘I heard her talking in her sleep once,’ Jellal says. ‘She was telling her father to stop doing something. I don’t know what it was, but it gave her nightmares.’”

So this is Jellal’s revenge. He must have talked to the Erudite reporter that Lucy yelled at.

He smiles. Her teeth are crooked. If I knocked them out, I might be doing him a favor.

“What?” I demand. Or I try to demand, but my voice comes out strangled and scratchy, and I have to clear my throat and say it again. “What?”

Pereus stops reading, and a few people turn around. Some, like Lucy, look at me in a pitying way, their eyebrows drawn in, their mouths turned down at the corners. But most give me little smirks and eye one another suggestively. Pereus turns last, with a wide smile.

“Give me that,” I say, holding out my hand. My face burns.

“But I’m not done reading,” he replies, laughter in his voice. His eyes scan the paper again. “However, perhaps the answer lies not in a morally bereft man, but in the corrupted ideals of an entire faction. Perhaps the answer is that we have entrusted our city to a group of proselytizing tyrants who do not know how to lead us out of poverty and into prosperity.”

I storm up to him and try to snatch the paper from his hands, but he holds it up, high above my head so I can’t reach it unless I jump, and I won’t jump. Instead, I lift my heel and stomp as hard as I can where the bones in his foot connect to his toes. He grits his teeth to stifle a groan.

Then I throw myself at Jellal, hoping the force of the impact will surprise him and knock her down, but before I can do any damage, cold hands close around my waist.

“That’s my father!” I scream. “My father, you coward!”

Loki pulls me away from her, lifting me off the ground. My breaths come fast, and I struggle to grab the paper before anyone can read another word of it. I have to burn it; I have to destroy it; I have to.

He drags me out of the room and into the hallway, his fingernails digging into my skin. Once the door shuts behind him, he lets go, and I shove him as hard as I can.

“What? Did you think I couldn’t defend myself against that piece of Candor trash?”

“No,” says Loki. He stands in front of the door. “I figured I’d stop you from starting a brawl in the dormitory. Calm down.”

I laugh a little. “Calm down? Calm down? That’s my family they’re talking about, that’s my faction! Their the people that raised me!!”

“No, it’s not.” There are dark circles under his eyes; he looks exhausted. “It’s your old faction, and there’s nothing you can do about what they say, so you might as well just ignore it.”

“Were you even listening?” The heat in my cheeks is gone, and my breaths are more even now. “Your stupid ex-faction isn’t just insulting Abnegation anymore. They’re calling for an overthrow of the entire government.”

He laughs. “No, they’re not. They’re arrogant and dull, and that’s why I left them, but they aren’t revolutionaries. They just want more say, that’s all, and they resent Abnegation for refusing to listen to them.”

“They don’t want people to listen, they want people to agree,” I reply. “And you shouldn’t bully people into agreeing with you.” I touch my palms to my cheeks. “I can’t believe my sister joined them.”

“Hey. They’re not all bad,” he says sharply.

I nod, but I don’t believe him. I can’t imagine anyone emerging from the Erudite unscathed, though he seems all right.

The door opens again, and Lucy and Jason walk out.

“It’s my turn to get tattooed,” she says. “Want to come with us?”

I smooth my hair. I can’t go back into the dormitory. Even if they let me, I am outnumbered there. My only choice is to go with them and try to forget what’s happening outside the Dauntless compound. I have enough to worry about without anxiety about my family.

Ahead of me, Jason gives Lucy a piggyback ride. She shrieks as he charges through the crowd. People give him a wide berth, when they can.

 

My shoulder still burns. Lucy persuaded me to join her in getting a tattoo of the Dauntless seal. It is a circle with a flame inside it. My mother didn’t even react to the ones on my collarbone, so I don’t have as many reservations about getting tattoos. They are a part of life here, just as integral to my initiation as learning to fight.

Lucy also persuaded me to purchase a shirt that exposes my shoulders and collarbone, and to line my eyes with black pencil again. I don’t bother objecting to her makeover attempts anymore. Especially since I find myself enjoying them.

Loki and I walk behind Lucy and Jason.

“I can’t believe you got another tattoo,” he says, shaking his head.

“Why?” I say. “Because I’m a Stiff?”

“No. Because you’re…sensible.” He smiles. His teeth are white and straight. “So, what was your fear today, Natsu?”

“Too many birds” I reply. “You?”

He laughs. “Too much acid.”

I don’t ask what that means.

“It’s really fascinating how it all works,” he says. “It’s basically a struggle between your thalamus, which is producing the fear, and your frontal lobe, which makes decisions. But the simulation is all in your head, so even though you feel like someone is doing it to you, it’s just you, doing it to yourself and…” He trails off. “Sorry. I sound like an Erudite. Just a habit.”

I shrug. “It’s interesting.”

Jason almost drops Lucy, and she slaps her hands around the first thing she can grab, which just happens to be his face. He cringes and adjusts his grip on her legs. At a glance, he seems happy, but there is something heavy about even his smiles. I am worried about him.

I see Frost standing by the chasm, a group of people around him. He laughs so hard he has to grab the railing for balance. Judging by the bottle in his hand and the brightness of his face, he’s intoxicated, or on his way there. I had begun to think of Frost as rigid, like a soldier, and forgot that he’s also eighteen.

“Uh-oh,” says Loki. “Instructor alert.”

“At least it’s not Gajeel,” I say. “He’d probably make us play chicken or something.”

“Sure, but Frost is scary. Remember when he put the gun up to Pereus’s head? I think Pereus wet himself.”

“Pereus deserved it,” I say firmly.

Loki doesn’t argue with me. He might have, a few weeks ago, but now we’ve all seen what Pereus is capable of.

“Natsu!” Frost calls out. Loki and I exchange a look, half surprise and half apprehension. Frost pulls away from the railing and walks up to me. Ahead of us, Jason and Lucy stop running, and Lucy slides to the ground. I don’t blame them for staring. There are four of us, and Frost is only talking to me.

“You look different.” His words, normally crisp, are now sluggish.

“So do you,” I say. And he does—he looks more relaxed, younger. “What are you doing?”

“Flirting with death,” he replies with a laugh. “Drinking near the chasm. Probably not a good idea.”

“No, it isn’t.” I’m not sure I like Frost this way. There’s something unsettling about it, a strong man reduced to a mindless drunk.

“Didn’t know you had a tattoo,” he says, looking at my collarbone.

He sips the bottle. His breath smells thick and sharp. Like the factionless man’s breath.

“Right. The ravens,” he says. He glances over his shoulder at his friends, who are carrying on without him, unlike mine. He adds, “I’d ask you to hang out with us, but you’re not supposed to see me this way.”

I am tempted to ask him why he wants me to hang out with him, but I suspect the answer has something to do with the bottle in his hand.

“What way?” I ask. “Drunk?”

“Yeah…well, no.” His voice softens. “Real, I guess.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t.”

“Nice of you.” He puts his lips next to my ear and says, “You look good, Natsu.”

His words surprise me, and my heart leaps. I wish it didn’t, because judging by the way his eyes slide over mine, he has no idea what he’s saying. I laugh. “Do me a favor and stay away from the chasm, okay?”

“Of course.” He winks at me.

I can’t help it. I smile. Loki clears his throat, but I don’t want to turn away from Frost, even when he walks back to his friends.

Then Jason rushes at me like a rolling boulder and throws me over his shoulder. I shriek, my face hot.

“Come on, little girl,” he says, “I’m taking you to dinner.”

I rest my elbows on his back and wave at Frost as he carries me away.

“I thought I would rescue you,” he says as we walk away. He sets me down. “What was that all about?”

He is trying to sound lighthearted, but he asks the question almost sadly. He still cares too much about me.

“Yeah, I think we’d all like to know the answer to that question,” says Lucy in a singsong voice. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “He was drunk. He didn’t even know what he was saying.” I clear my throat. “That’s why I was grinning. It’s…funny to see him that way.”

“Right,” says Loki. “Couldn’t possibly be because—”

I elbow him hard in the ribs before he can finish his sentence. He was close enough to hear what Frost said to me about looking good. I don’t need him telling everyone about it, especially not Jason. I don’t want to make him feel worse.

At home I used to spend calm, pleasant nights with my family. My mother knit scarves for the neighborhood kids. My father helped Wendy with his homework. There was a fire in the fireplace and peace in my heart, as I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing, and everything was quiet.

I have never been carried around by a large boy, or laughed until my stomach hurt at the dinner table, or listened to the clamor of a hundred people all talking at once. Peace is restrained; this, this is what its like to be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *A group of ravens is called a conspiracy. In the actual book, it was crows, and a group of crows is called a murder.
> 
> **Ravens are portrayed as the messengers of lady Death in many pieces of literature, Edgar Allen Poe's "The Raven" is an example.


	12. Divergence and Explosions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, this chapter is a little short, but ill make the next one a bit longer. This is actually the last chapter I have fully planned out, so the next update may take a while. If you see any errors please alert me about 'em since I'mm new to writing. Also, any questions or requests can be sent to me as either a message or a comment. I'll try to reply as soon as I can.

I breath through my nose. In, out. In.

“It’s just a simulation, Natsu,” Frost says quietly.

He’s wrong. The last simulation bled into my life, waking and sleeping. Nightmares, not just featuring the ravens but the feelings I had in the simulation—terror and helplessness, rage and hatred, which I suspect is what I am really afraid of. Sudden fits of terror in the shower, at breakfast, on the way here. Nails bitten down so far my nail beds ache. And I am not the only one who feels this way; I can tell.

Still I nod and close my eyes.

I am in darkness. The last thing I remember is the metal chair and the needle in my arm. This time there is no field; there are no ravens in sight. My heart pounds in anticipation. What monsters will creep from the darkness and steal my rationality? How long will I have to wait for them? Will my sanity continue to fray? *

A blue and orange orb lights up a few feet ahead of me, and then another one, filling the room with light. I am on the Pit floor, next to the chasm, and the initiates stand around me, their arms folded and their faces blank. I search for Lucy and find her standing among them. None of them move. Their stillness makes my throat feel tight.

I see something in front of me—my own faint reflection. I touch it, and my fingers find glass, cool and smooth. I look up. There is a pane above me; I am in a glass box. I press above my head to see if I can force the box open. It doesn’t budge. I am sealed in.

My heart beats faster. I don’t want to be trapped. Someone taps on the wall in front of me. Frost. He points at my feet, smirking.

**A few seconds ago, my feet were dry, but now I stand in half an inch of a murky substance, oil perhaps, and my socks are soggy. I crouch to see where the liquid is coming from, but it seems to be coming from nowhere, rising up from the box’s glass bottom. I look up at Frost, and he shrugs. He joins the crowd of initiates.

The oil rises fast. It now covers my ankles. I pound against the glass with my fist.

“Hey!” I say. “Let me out of here!”

The oil slides up my bare calves as it rises, cool and soft. I hit the glass harder.

“Get me out of here! Guys?! Help me out here, goddammit!”

I stare at Lucy. She leans over to Pereus, who stands beside her, and whispers something in his ear. They both laugh.

The oil reaches my thighs. I pound both fists against the glass. I’m not trying to get their attention anymore; I’m trying to break out. Franticly, I bang against the glass as hard as I can. I step back and throw my shoulder into the wall, once, twice, three times, Frost times. I hit the wall until my shoulder aches, screaming for help, watching the murky liquid rise to my waist, my rib cage, my chest.

“Help!” I scream. “Please! Please help! Anyone? Please!”

I slap the glass. I will die in this tank. I drag my shaking hands through my hair.

I see Loki standing among the initiates, and something tickles at the back of my mind. Something he said. Come on, think. I stop trying to break the glass. It’s hard to breathe, but I have to try. I’ll need as much air as I can get in the next few seconds.

My body rises, weightless. I float closer to the ceiling and tilt my head back as the oil covers my chin. Gasping, I press my face to the glass above me, sucking in as much air as I can. Then the oil submerges me, sealing me into the box.

Don’t panic. It’s no use—my heart pounds and my thoughts scatter. I thrash in the water, smacking the walls. I kick the glass as hard as I can, but the water slows down my foot. The simulation is all in your head.

I scream, and oil fills my mouth. If it’s in my head, I control it. The liquid burns my eyes. The initiates’ passive faces stare back at me. They don’t care.

I scream again and shove the wall with my palms. I hear something. A hissing sound. When I pull my hand away, there is an orange glow surrounding the tips of my fingers. The wisps dance intricately within my palm. 

Fire. 

If the strange liquid is indeed oil, it can burn. 

I will the flames to spread, to reach the end of my forearm and to glow brighter. Within seconds of me blacking out, a spark shoots from my arm and ignites the oil. I barely have time to shield my eyes when I hear the explosion. The pane shatters, and the force of the water against my back throws me forward. There is air again.

I gasp and sit up. I’m in the chair. I gulp and shake out my hands. Frost stands to my right, but instead of helping me up, he just looks at me.

“What?” I ask.

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Crack the glass.”

“I don’t know.” Frost finally offers me his hand. I swing my legs over the side of the chair, and when I stand, I feel steady. Calm.

He sighs and grabs me by the elbow, half leading and half dragging me out of the room. We walk quickly down the hallway, and then I stop, pulling my arm back. He stares at me in silence. He won’t give me information without prompting.

“What?” I demand.

“You’re Divergent,” he replies.

I stare at him, fear pulsing through me like electricity. He knows. How does he know? I must have slipped up. Said something wrong.

I should act casual. I lean back, pressing my shoulders to the wall, and say, “What’s Divergent?”

“Don’t play stupid,” he says. “I suspected it last time, but this time it’s obvious. You manipulated the simulation; you’re Divergent. I’ll delete the footage, but unless you want to wind up dead at the bottom of the chasm, you’ll figure out how to hide it during the simulations! Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

He walks back to the simulation room and slams the door behind him. I feel my heartbeat in my throat. I manipulated the simulation; I broke the glass. I didn’t know that was an act of Divergence.

How did he?

I push myself away from the wall and start down the hallway. I need answers, and I know who has them.

I walk straight to the tattoo place where I last saw Levy.

There aren’t many people out, because it’s mid after-noon and most of them are at work or at school. There are three people in the tattoo place: the other tattoo artist, who is drawing a lion on another man’s arm, and Levy, who is sorting through a stack of paper on the counter. She looks up when I walk in.

“Hello, Natsu,” she says. She glances at the other tattoo artist, who is too focused on what he’s doing to notice us. “Let’s go in the back.”

I follow her behind the curtain that separates the two rooms. The next room contains a few chairs, spare tattoo needles, ink, pads of paper, and framed artwork. Levy draws the curtain shut and sits in one of the chairs. I sit next to her, tapping my feet to give myself something to do.

“What’s going on?” she says. “How are the simulations going?”

“Really well.” I nod a few times. “A little too well, I hear.”

“Ah.”

“Please help me understand,” I say quietly. “What does it mean to be…” I hesitate. I should not say the word “Divergent” here. “What the hell am I? What does it have to do with the simulations?”

Levy’s demeanor changes. She leans back and crosses her arms. Her expression becomes guarded.

“Among other things, you…you are someone who is aware, when they are in a simulation, that what they are experiencing is not real,” she says. “Someone who can then manipulate the simulation or even shut it down. And also…” She leans forward and looks into my eyes. “Someone who, because you are also Dauntless…tends to die.”

A weight settles on my chest, like each sentence she speaks is piling there. Tension builds inside me until I can’t stand to hold it in anymore—I have to cry, or scream, or…

I let out a harsh little laugh that dies almost as soon as it’s born and say, “So I’m going to die, then?”

“Not necessarily,” she says. “The Dauntless leaders don’t know about you yet. I deleted your aptitude results from the system immediately and manually logged your result as Abnegation. But make no mistake—if they discover what you are, they will kill you.”

I stare at her in silence. She doesn’t look crazy. She sounds steady, if a little urgent, and I’ve never suspected her of being unbalanced, but she must be. There hasn’t been a murder in our city as long as I’ve been alive. Even if individuals are capable of it, the leaders of a faction can’t possibly be.

“You’re paranoid,” I say. “The leaders of the Dauntless wouldn’t kill me. People don’t do that. Not anymore. That’s the point of all this…all the factions.”

“Oh, you think so?” She plants her hands on her knees and stares right at me, her features taut with sudden ferocity. “They got my brother, why not you, huh? What makes you special?”

“Your brother?” I say, narrowing my eyes.

“Yeah. My brother. He and I both transferred from Erudite, only his aptitude test was inconclusive. On the last day of simulations, they found his body in the chasm. Said it was a suicide. Only my brother was doing well in training, he was dating another initiate, he was happy.” She shakes her head. “You have a sister, right? Don’t you think you would know if she was suicidal?”

I try to imagine Wendy killing herself. Even the thought sounds ridiculous to me. Even if Wendy was miserable, it would not be an option.

Her sleeves are rolled up, so I can see a tattoo of a river on her right arm. Did she get it after her brother died? Was the river another fear she overcame?

She lowers her voice. “In the second stage of training, Georgie got really good, really fast. He said the simulations weren’t even scary to him…they were like a game. So the instructors took a special interest in him. Piled into the room when he went under, instead of just letting the instructor report his results. Whispered about him all the time. The last day of simulations, one of the Dauntless leaders came in to see it himself. And the next day, Georgie was gone.”

I could be good at the simulations, if I mastered whatever force helped me break the glass. I could be so good that all the instructors took notice. I could, but will I?

“Is that all it is?” I say. “Just changing the simulations?”

“I doubt it,” she says, “but that’s all I know.”

“How many people know about this?” I say, thinking of Frost. “About manipulating the simulations?”

“Two kinds of people,” she says. “People who want you dead. Or people who have experienced it themselves. Firsthand. Or secondhand, like me.”

Frost told me he would delete the recording of me breaking the glass. He doesn’t want me dead. Is he Divergent? Was a family member? A friend? A girlfriend?

I push the thought aside. I can’t let him distract me.

“I don’t understand,” I say slowly, “why the Dauntless leaders care that I can manipulate the simulation.”

“If I had it figured out, I would have told you by now.” She presses her lips together. “The only thing I’ve come up with is that changing the simulation isn’t what they care about; it’s just a symptom of something else. Something they do care about.”

Levy takes my hand and presses it between her palms.

“Think about this,” she says. “These people taught you how to use a gun. They taught you how to fight. You think they’re above hurting you? Above killing you?”

She releases my hand and stands.

“I have to go or Droy will ask questions. Be careful, Natsu.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * To be clear, Natsu is having symptoms of Paranoid Personality Disorder, but it will not drive 'him' insane. He will begin to have dreams and flashbacks of things he cannot remember, and begin to imagine people 'he' has never met before. This is leading up to recent manga chapters and to the Great War in this story.
> 
> **For the person who asked if the Divergent use magic, the answer is yes. The magic types of those who are Divergent may change, such as Gray, Zeref, and Natsu. (FYI Natsu is not JUST a dragon slayer...) Also this scene in particular was supposed to hint at Natsu having a relationship with fire magic.
> 
> Let me know what you think, and comments and kudos are very much appreciated.


	13. Results and Betrayal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus. Didn't mean to die for so long. Well, here's a shitty update for making you wait so long. 
> 
> Also, I feel like writing a small Soulmate or A/B/O dynamic story. Taking requests on any couple of any fandom. Summary is as follows:
> 
> "Person A was used to being alone, what with being a Omega in a world dominated by Alphas. They were used to being picked on for one thing or another. They didn't mind, that is until Person B crashes into their life. 
> 
> Literally.
> 
> Or the A/B/O Soulmate Au no one wished for."

The door leading to the Pit closes behind me, and I am alone. I have not walked this tunnel since the day of the Choosing Ceremony. I remember how I walked it then, my footsteps unsteady, searching for light. I walk it surefooted now. The dark never bothered me anyway.

It has been four days since I spoke to Levy. Since then, Erudite has released two articles about the Abnegation. The first article accuses Abnegation of withholding luxuries like cars and fresh fruit from the other factions in order to force their belief in self-denial on everyone else. When I read it, I thought of Loki ’s sister, Karen, accusing my mother of hoarding goods.

The second article discusses the failings of choosing government officials based on their faction, asking why only people who define themselves as selfless should be in government. It promotes a return to the democratically elected political systems of the past. It makes a lot of sense, which makes me suspect it is a call for revolution wrapped in the clothing of rationality.

I reach the end of the tunnel. The net stretches across the gaping hole, just as it did when I last saw it. I climb the stairs to the wooden platform where Frost pulled me to solid ground and grab the bar that the net is attached to. I would not have been able to lift my body up with just my arms when I first got here, but now I do it almost without thinking and roll into the center of the net.

Above me are the empty buildings that stand at the edge of the hole, and the sky. It is dark blue and starless. There is no moon.

The articles troubled me, but I had friends to cheer me up, and that is something. When the first one was released, Lucy charmed one of the cooks in the Dauntless kitchens, and he let us try some cake batter. After the second article, Elfman and Mira taught me a card game, and we played for two hours in the dining hall.

Tonight, though, I want to be alone. More than that, I want to remember why I came here, and why I was so determined to stay here that I would jump off a building for it, even before I knew what being Dauntless was. I work my fingers through the holes in the net beneath me.

I wanted to be like the Dauntless I saw at school. I wanted to be loud and daring and free like them. But they were not members yet; they were just playing at being Dauntless. And so was I, when I jumped off that roof. I didn’t know what fear was.

In the past four days, I faced four fears. In one I was tied to a stake and Perseus set a fire beneath my feet. In another I was drowning in oil again, this time in the middle of an ocean as the water raged around me. In the third, I watched as my family slowly burned to death. And in the fourth, I was held at gunpoint and forced to shoot them. I know what fear is now.

Wind rushes over the lip of the hole and washes over me, and I close my eyes. In my mind I stand at the edge of the roof again. I undo the buttons of my gray Abnegation shirt, exposing my arms, revealing more of my body than anyone else has ever seen. I ball the shirt up and hurl it at Perseus’s chest.

I open my eyes. No, I was wrong; I didn’t jump off the roof because I wanted to be like the Dauntless. I jumped off because I already was like them, and I wanted to show myself to them. I wanted to acknowledge a part of myself that Abnegation demanded that I hide.

I stretch my hands over my head and hook them in the net again. I reach with my toes as far as I can, taking up as much of the net as possible. The night sky is empty and silent, and for the first time in four days, so is my mind.

I hold my head in my hands and breathe deeply. Today the simulation was the same as yesterday: Someone held me at gunpoint and ordered me to shoot my family. When I lift my head, I see that Frost is watching me.

“I know the simulation isn’t real,” I say.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” he replies. “You love your family. You don’t want to shoot them. Not the most unreasonable thing in the world.”

“The simulation is the only time I get to see them,” I say. Even though he says I don’t, I feel like I have to explain why this fear is so difficult for me to face. I twist my fingers together and pull them apart. My nail beds are bitten raw—I have been chewing them as I sleep. I wake to bloody hands every morning. “I miss them. You ever just…miss your family?”

Frost looks down. “No,” he says eventually. “I don’t. But that’s unusual.”

It is unusual, so unusual it distracts me from the memory of holding a gun to Wendy ’s chest. What was his family like that he no longer cares about them?

I pause with my hand on the doorknob and look back at him.

Are you like me? I ask him silently. Are you Divergent?

Even thinking the word feels dangerous. His eyes hold mine, and as the silent seconds pass, he looks less and less stern. I hear my heartbeat. I have been looking at him too long, but then, he has been looking back, and I feel like we are both trying to say something the other can’t hear, though I could be imagining it. Too long—and now, even longer, my heart even louder, his tranquil eyes swallowing me whole.

I push the door open and hurry down the hallway.

I shouldn’t be so easily distracted by him. I shouldn’t be able to think of anything but initiation. The simulations should disturb me more; they should break my mind, as they have been doing to most of the other initiates. Jellal doesn’t sleep—he just stares at the wall, curled in a ball. Jason screams every night from his nightmares and cries into his pillow. My nightmares and chewed fingernails pale by comparison.

His screams wake me every time, and I stare at the springs above me and wonder what on earth is wrong with me, that I still feel strong when everyone else is breaking down. Is it being Divergent that makes me steady, or is it something else?

When I get back to the dormitory, I expect to find the same thing I found the day before: a few initiates lying on beds or staring at nothing. Instead they stand in a group on the other end of the room. Gajeel is in front of them with a chalkboard in his hands, which is facing the other way, so I can’t see what’s written on it. I stand next to Loki .

“What’s going on?” I whisper. I hope it isn’t another article, because I’m not sure I can handle any more hostility directed at me.

“Rankings for stage two,” he says.

“I thought there weren’t any cuts after stage two,” I hiss.

“There aren’t. It’s just a progress report, sort of.”

I nod.

The sight of the board makes me feel uneasy, like something is swimming in my stomach. Gajeel lifts the board above his head and hangs it on the nail. When he steps aside, the room falls silent, and I crane my neck to see what it says.

My name is in the first slot.

Heads turn in my direction. I follow the list down. Lucy and Loki are seventh and ninth, respectively. Perseus is second, but when I look at the time listed by his name, I realize that the margin between us is conspicuously wide.

Perseus’s average simulation time is eleven minutes. Mine is two minutes, forty-five seconds.

“Nice job, Natsu,” Loki says quietly.

I nod, still staring at the board. I should be pleased that I am ranked first, but I know what that means. If Perseus and his friends hated me before, they will despise me now. Now I am Sting. It could be my eye next. Or worse.

I search for Jason’s name and find it in the last slot. The crowd of initiates breaks up slowly, leaving just me, Perseus, Loki, and Jason standing there. I want to console him. To tell him that the only reason that I’m doing well is that there’s something different about my brain.

Perseus turns slowly, every limb infused with tension. A glare would have been less threatening than the look he gives me—a look of pure hatred. He walks toward his bunk, but at the last second, he whips around and shoves me against a wall, a hand on each of my shoulders.

“I will not be outranked by a Stiff,” he hisses, his face so close to mine I can smell his stale breath. “How did you do it, huh? How the hell did you do it?”

He pulls me forward a few inches and then slams me against the wall again. I clench my teeth to keep from crying out, though pain from the impact went all the way down my spine. Loki grabs Perseus by his shirt collar and drags him away from me.

“Leave her alone,” he says. “Only a coward bullies a little girl.”

“A little girl?” scoffs Perseus, throwing off Loki ’s hand. “Are you blind, or just stupid? She’s going to edge you out of the rankings and out of Dauntless, and you’re going to get nothing, all because she knows how to manipulate people and you don’t. So when you realize that she’s out to ruin us all, you let me know.”

Perseus storms out of the dormitory. Jellal and Kyline follow him, looks of disgust on their faces.

“Thanks,” I say, nodding to Loki .

“Is he right?” Loki asks quietly. “Are you trying to manipulate us?”

“How on earth would I do that?” I scowl at him. “I’m just doing the best I can, like anyone else.”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs a little. “By acting weak so we pity you? And then acting tough to psyche us out?”

“Psyche you out?” I repeat. “I’m your friend. I wouldn’t do that.”

He doesn’t say anything. I can tell he doesn’t believe me—not quite.

“Don’t be an idiot, Loki,” says Lucy , hopping down from her bunk. She looks at me without sympathy and adds, “She’s not acting.”

Lucy turns and leaves, without banging the door shut. Loki follows after her. I am alone in the room with Jason. The first and the last.

He has never looked small before, but he does now, with his shoulders slumped and his body collapsing on itself like crumpled paper. He sits down on the edge of his bed.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

“Sure,” he says.

His face is bright red. I look away. Asking him was just a formality. Anyone with eyes could see that he is not all right.

“It’s not over,” I say. “You can improve your rank if you…”

My voice trails off when he looks up at me. I don’t even know what I would say to him if I finished my sentence. There is no strategy for stage two. It reaches deep into the heart of who we are and tests whatever courage is there.

“See?” he says. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know it’s not.”

“I don’t think you do,” he says, shaking his head. His chin wobbles. “For you it’s easy. All of this is easy.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yeah, it is.” He closes his eyes. “You aren’t helping me by pretending it isn’t. I don’t—I’m not sure you can help me at all.”

I feel like I just walked into a downpour, and all my clothes are heavy with water; like I am heavy and awkward and useless. I don’t know if he means that no one can help him, or if I, specifically, can’t help him, but I would not be okay with either interpretation. I want to help him. I am powerless to do so.

“I…,” I start to say, meaning to apologize, but for what? For being more Dauntless than he is? For not knowing what to say?

“I just…” The tears that have been gathering in his eyes spill over, wetting his cheeks. “…want to be alone.”

I nod and turn away from him. Leaving him is not a good idea, but I can’t stop myself. The door clicks into place behind me, and I keep walking.

I walk past the drinking fountain and through the tunnels that seemed endless the day I got here but now barely register in my mind. This is not the first time I have failed my family since I got here, but for some reason, it feels that way. Every other time I failed, I knew what to do but chose not to do it. This time, I did not know what to do. Have I lost the ability to see what people need? Have I lost part of myself?

I keep walking.

I somehow find the hallway I sat in the day Sting left. I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t feel like I have much of a choice. I close my eyes and pay attention to the cold stone beneath me and breathe the musty underground air.

“Natsu!” someone calls from the end of the hallway. Elfman jogs toward me. Behind him are Cana and Kinana. Cana is holding a muffin.

“Thought I would find you here.” He crouches near my feet. “I heard you got ranked first.”

“So you just wanted to congratulate me?” I smirk. “Well, thanks.”

“Someone should,” he says. “And I figured your friends might not be so congratulatory, since their ranks aren’t as high. So quit moping and come with us. I’m going to shoot a muffin off Kinana’s head.”

The idea is so ridiculous I can’t stop myself from laughing. I get up and follow Elfman to the end of the hallway, where Kinana and Cana are waiting. Cana narrows her eyes at me, but Kinana grins.

“Why aren’t you out celebrating?” she asks. “You’re practically guaranteed a top ten spot if you keep it up.”

“She’s too Dauntless for the other transfers,” Elfman says.

“And too Abnegation to ‘celebrate,’” remarks Cana.

I ignore her. “Why are you shooting a muffin off Kinana’s head?”

“She bet me I couldn’t aim well enough to hit a small object from one hundred feet,” Elfman explains. “I bet her she didn’t have the guts to stand there as I tried. It works out well, really.”

The training room where I first fired a gun is not far from my hidden hallway. We get there in under a minute, and Elfman flips on a light switch. It looks the same as the last time I was there: targets on one end of the room, a table with guns on the other.

“They just keep these lying around?” I ask.

“Yeah, but they aren’t loaded.” Elfman pulls up his shirt. There is a gun stuck under the waistband of his pants, right under a tattoo. I stare at the tattoo, trying to figure out what it is, but then he lets his shirt fall. “Okay,” he says. “Go stand in front of a target.”

Kinana walks away, a skip in her step.

“You aren’t seriously going to shoot at her, are you?” I ask Elfman.

“It’s not a real gun,” says Cana quietly. “It’s got plastic pellets in it. The worst it’ll do is sting her face, maybe give her a welt. What do you think we are, stupid?”

Kinana stands in front of one of the targets and sets the muffin on her head. Elfman squints one eye as he aims the gun.

“Wait!” calls out Kinana. She breaks off a piece of the muffin and pops it into her mouth. “Mmkay!” she shouts, the word garbled by food. She gives Elfman a thumbs-up.

“I take it your ranks were good,” I say to Cana.

She nods. “Elfman’s second. I’m first. Kinana’s fourth.”

“You’re only first by a hair,” says Elfman as he aims. He squeezes the trigger. The muffin falls off Kinana’s head. She didn’t even blink.

“We both win!” she shouts.

“You miss your old faction?” Cana asks me.

“Sometimes,” I say. “It was calmer. Not as exhausting.”

Kinana picks up the muffin from the ground and bites into it. Elfman shouts, “Gross!”

“Initiation’s supposed to wear us down to who we really are. That’s what Gajeel says, anyway,” Cana says. She arches an eyebrow.

“Frost says it’s to prepare us.”

“Well, they don’t agree on much.”

I nod. Frost told me that Gajeel’s vision for Dauntless is not what it’s supposed to be, but I wish he would tell me exactly what he thinks the right vision is. I get glimpses of it every so often—the Dauntless cheering when I jumped off the building, the net of arms that caught me after zip lining—but they are not enough. Has he read the Dauntless manifesto? Is that what he believes in—in ordinary acts of bravery?

The door to the training room opens. Evergreen, Max, and Frost walk in just as Elfman fires at another target. The plastic pellet bounces off the center of the target and rolls along the ground.

“I thought I heard something in here,” says Frost.

“Turns out it’s my idiot brother,” says Mira. “You’re not supposed to be in here after hours. Careful, or Frost will tell Gajeel, and then you’ll be as good as scalped.”

Elfman wrinkles his nose at his sister and puts the pellet gun away. Kinana crosses the room, taking bites of her muffin, and Frost steps away from the door to let us file out.

“You wouldn’t tell Gajeel,” says Cana, eyeing Frost suspiciously.

“No, I wouldn’t,” he says. As I pass him, he rests his hand on the top of my back to usher me out, his palm pressing between my shoulder blades. I shiver. I hope he can’t tell.

The others walk down the hallway, Mira and Elfman shoving each other, Kinana splitting her muffin with Evergreen, Cana marching in front. I start to follow them.

“Wait a second,” Frost says. I turn toward him, wondering which version of Frost I’ll see now—the one who scolds me, or the one who climbs Ferris wheels with me. He smiles a little, but the smile doesn’t spread to his eyes, which look tense and worried.

“You belong here, you know that?” he says. “You belong with us. It’ll be over soon, so just hold on, okay?”

He scratches behind his ear and looks away, like he’s embarrassed by what he said.

I stare at him. I feel my heartbeat everywhere, even in my toes. I feel like doing something bold, but I could just as easily walk away. I am not sure which option is smarter, or better. I am not sure that I care.

I reach out and take his hand. His fingers slide between mine. I can’t breathe.

I stare up at him, and he stares down at me. For a long moment, we stay that way. Then I pull my hand away and run after Elfman and Cana and Kinana. Maybe now he thinks I’m stupid, or strange. Maybe it was worth it.

I get back to the dormitory before anyone else does, and when they start to trickle in, I get into bed and pretend to be asleep. I don’t need any of them, not if they’re going to react this way when I do well. If I can make it through initiation, I will be Dauntless, and I won’t have to see them anymore.

I don’t need them—but do I want them? Every tattoo I got with them is a mark of their friendship, and almost every time I have laughed in this dark place was because of them. I don’t want to lose them. But I feel like I have already.

After at least a half hour of racing thoughts, I roll onto my back and open my eyes. The dormitory is dark now—everyone has gone to bed. Probably exhausted from resenting me so much, I think with a wry smile. As if coming from the most hated faction wasn’t enough, now I’m showing them up, too.

I get out of bed to get a drink of water. I’m not thirsty, but I need to do something. My bare feet make sticky sounds on the floor as I walk, my hand skimming the wall to keep my path straight. A bulb glows blue above the drinking fountain.

I tug my hair over one shoulder and bend over. As soon as the water touches my lips, I hear voices at the end of the hallway. I creep closer to them, trusting the dark to keep me hidden.

“So far there haven’t been any signs of it.” Gajeel’s voice. Signs of what?

“Well, you wouldn’t have seen much of it yet,” someone replies. A female voice; cold and familiar, but familiar like a dream, not a real person. “Combat training shows you nothing. The simulations, however, reveal who the Divergent rebels are, if there are any, so we will have to examine the footage several times to be sure.”

The word “Divergent” makes me go cold. I lean forward, my back pressed to the stone, to see who the familiar voice belongs to.

“Don’t forget the reason I had Max appoint you,” the voice says. “Your first priority is always finding them. Always.”

“I won’t forget.”

I shift a few inches forward, hoping I am still hidden. Whoever that voice belongs to, she is pulling the strings; she is responsible for Gajeel’s leadership position; she is the one who wants me dead. I tilt my head forward, straining to see them before they turn the corner.

Then someone grabs me from behind.

I start to scream, but a hand claps over my mouth. It smells like soap and it’s big enough to cover the lower half of my face. I thrash, but the arms holding me are too strong, and I bite down on one of the fingers.

“Ow!” a rough voice cries.

“Shut up and keep her mouth covered.” That voice is higher than the average male’s and clearer. Perseus.

A strip of dark cloth covers my eyes, and a new pair of hands ties it at the back of my head. I struggle to breathe. There are at least two hands on my arms, dragging me forward, and one on my back, shoving me in the same direction, and one on my mouth, keeping my screams in. Three people. My chest hurts. I can’t resist three people on my own.

“Wonder what it sounds like when a Stiff begs for mercy,” Perseus says with a chuckle. “Hurry up.”

I try to focus on the hand on my mouth. There must be something distinct about it that’ll make him easier to identify. His identity is a problem I can solve. I need to solve a problem right now, or I will panic.

The palm is sweaty and soft. I clench my teeth and breathe through my nose. The soap smell is familiar. Lemongrass and sage. The same smell surrounds Jason’s bunk. A weight drops into my stomach.

I hear the crash of water against rocks. We are near the chasm—we must be above it, given the volume of the sound. I press my lips together to keep from screaming. If we are above the chasm, I know what they intend to do to me.

“Lift her up, c’mon.”

I thrash, and their rough skin grates against mine, but I know it’s useless. I scream too, knowing that no one can hear me here.

I must survive until tomorrow. I will.

The hands push me around and up and slam my spine into something hard and cold. Judging by its width and curvature, it is a metal railing. It is the metal railing, the one that overlooks the chasm. My breaths wheeze and mist touches the back of my neck. The hands force my back to arch over the railing. My feet leave the ground, and my attackers are the only thing keeping me from falling into the water.

A heavy hand gropes along my chest. “You sure you’re sixteen, Stiff? Feels like you’re more than twenty.” The other boys laugh.

Bile rises in my throat and I swallow the bitter taste.

“Wait, I think I found something!” His hand squeezes me. I bite my tongue to keep from screaming. More laughter.

Jason’s hand slips from my mouth. “Stop that,” he snaps. I recognize his low, distinct voice.

When he lets go of me, I thrash again and slip down to the ground. This time, I bite down as hard as I can on the first arm I find. I hear a scream and clench my jaw harder, tasting blood. Something hard strikes my face. White heat races through my head. It would have been pain if adrenaline wasn’t coursing through me like acid.

The boy wrenches his trapped arm away from me and throws me to the ground. I bang my elbow against stone and bring my hands up to my head to remove the blindfold. A foot drives into my side, forcing the air from my lungs. I gasp and cough and claw at the back of my head. Someone grabs a handful of my hair and slams my head against something hard. A scream of pain bursts from my mouth, and I feel dizzy.

Clumsily, I fumble along the side of my head to find the edge of the blindfold. I drag my heavy hand up, taking the blindfold with it, and blink. The scene before me is sideways and bobs up and down. I see someone running toward us and someone running away—someone large, Jason. I grab the railing next to me and haul myself to my feet.

Perseus wraps a hand around my throat and lifts me up, his thumb wedged under my chin. His hair, which is usually shiny and smooth, is tousled and sticks to his forehead. His pale face is contorted and his teeth are gritted, and he holds me over the chasm as spots appear on the edges of my vision, crowding around his face, green and pink and blue. He says nothing. I try to kick him, but my legs are too short. My lungs scream for air.

I hear a shout, and he releases me.

I stretch out my arms as I fall, gasping, and my armpits slam into the railing. I hook my elbows over it and groan. Mist touches my ankles. The world dips and sways around me, and someone is on the Pit floor—Jellal—screaming. I hear thumps. Kicks. Groans.

I blink a few times and focus as hard as I can on the only face I can see. It is contorted with anger. His eyes are dark blue.

“Frost,” I croak.

I close my eyes, and hands wrap around my arms, right where they join with the shoulder. He pulls me over the railing and against his chest, gathering me into his arms, easing an arm under my knees. I press my face into his shoulder, and there is a sudden, hollow silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Insert reference to Fairy Tail 424. LOLz


	14. Acting and Conversations Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next three or so chapters will be small, since they are being rewritten, but they will be updated today and tomorrow. Also, shout outs to cristallina and GraceDiAngelo12799 for commenting within 12 hours of me posting.
> 
> Also GraceDiAngelo12799, I will be posting the Victuri and Ereri A/B/O Soulmate AU's in a few weeks.
> 
> Again, still taking requests for A/B/O and Soul mate AU's for any anime.
> 
> And as always, my work is unbeta'd so their will be grammar and spelling mistakes.
> 
> I do not own the Divergent series or Fairy Tail.

I awaken to the words “Fear God Alone” painted on a plain white wall. I hear the sound of running water again, but this time it’s from a faucet and not from the chasm. Seconds go by before I see definite edges in my surroundings, the lines of door frame and counter top and ceiling.

The pain is a constant throb in my head and cheek and ribs. I shouldn’t move; it would only make everything worse. I see a blue patchwork quilt under my head and wince as I tilt my head to see where the water sound is coming from.

Frost stands in the bathroom with his hands in the sink. Blood from his knuckles turns the sink water pink. He has a cut at the corner of his mouth, but he seems otherwise unharmed. His expression is placid as he examines his cuts, turns off the water, and dries his hands with a towel.

I have only one memory of getting here, and even that is just a single image: black ink curling around the side of a neck, the corner of a tattoo, and the gentle sway that could only mean he was carrying me.

He turns off the bathroom light and gets an ice pack from the refrigerator in the corner of the room. As he walks toward me, I consider closing my eyes and pretending to be asleep, but then our eyes meet and it’s too late.

“Your hands,” I croak.

“My hands are none of your concern,” he replies. He rests his knee on the mattress and leans over me, slipping the ice pack under my head. Before he pulls away, I reach out to touch the cut on the side of his lip but stop when I realize what I am about to do, my hand hovering.

What do you have to lose? I ask myself. I touch my fingertips lightly to his mouth.

“Natsu,” he says, speaking against my fingers, “I’m all right.”

“Why were you there?” I ask, letting my hand drop.

“I was coming back from the control room. I heard a scream.”

“What did you do to them?” I say.

“I deposited Jellal at the infirmary a half hour ago,” he says. “Perseus and Jason ran. Jellal claimed they were just trying to scare you. At least, I think that’s what he was trying to say.”

“He’s in bad shape?”

“He’ll live,” he replies. He adds bitterly, “In what condition, I can’t say.”

It isn’t right to wish pain on other people just because they hurt me first. But white-hot triumph races through me at the thought of Jellal in the infirmary, and I squeeze Four’s arm.

“Good,” I say. My voice sounds tight and fierce. Anger builds inside me, replacing my blood with bitter water and filling me, consuming me. I want to break something, or hit something, but I am afraid to move, so I start crying instead.

Frost crouches by the side of the bed, and watches me. I see no sympathy in his eyes. I would have been disappointed if I had. He pulls his wrist free and, to my surprise, rests his hand on the side of my face, his thumb skimming my cheekbone. His fingers are careful.

“I could report this,” he says.

“No,” I reply. “I don’t want them to think I’m scared.”

He nods. He moves his thumb absently over my cheekbone, back and forth. “I figured you would say that.”

“You think it would be a bad idea if I sat up?”

“I’ll help you.”

Frost grips my shoulder with one hand and holds my head steady with the other as I push myself up. Pain rushes through my body in sharp bursts, but I try to ignore it, stifling a groan.

He hands me the ice pack. “You can let yourself be in pain,” he says. “It’s just me here.”

I bite down on my lip. There are tears on my face, but neither of us mentions or even acknowledges them.

“I suggest you rely on your transfer friends to protect you from now on,” he says.

“I thought I was,” I say. I remember the feeling of Jason’s hand against my mouth again, and a sob jolts my body forward. I press my hand to my forehead and rock slowly back and forth. “But Jason…”

“He wanted you to be the small, quiet girl from Abnegation,” Frost says softly. “He hurt you because your strength made him feel weak. No other reason.”

I nod and try to believe him.

“The others won’t be as jealous if you show some vulnerability. Even if it isn’t real.”

“You think I have to pretend to be vulnerable?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, I do.” He takes the ice pack from me, his fingers brushing mine, and holds it against my head himself. I put my hand down, too eager to relax my arm to object. Frost stands up. I stare at the hem of his T-shirt.

Sometimes I see him as just another person, and sometimes I feel the sight of him in my gut, like a deep ache.

“You’re going to want to march into breakfast tomorrow and show your attackers they had no effect on you,” he adds, “but you should let that bruise on your cheek show, and keep your head down.”

The idea nauseates me.

“I don’t think I can do that,” I say hollowly. I lift my eyes to his.

“You have to.”

“I don’t think you get it.” Heat rises into my face. “They touched me.”

His entire body tightens at my words, his hand clenching around the ice pack. “Touched you,” he repeats, his dark eyes cold.

“Not…in the way you’re thinking.” I clear my throat. I didn’t realize when I said it how awkward it would be to talk about. “But they…almost...maybe?”

I look away.

He is silent and still for so long that eventually, I have to say something.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want to say this,” he says, “but I feel like I have to. It is more important for you to be safe than right, for the time being. Understand?”

His straight eyebrows are drawn low over his eyes. My stomach writhes, partly because I know he makes a good point but I don’t want to admit it, and partly because I want something I don’t know how to express; I want to press against the space between us until it disappears.

I nod.

“But please, when you see an opportunity…” He presses his hand to my cheek, cold and strong, and tilts my head up so I have to look at him. His eyes glint. They look almost demonic*. “Ruin them.”

I laugh shakily. “You’re a little scary, Four.”

“Do me a favor,” he says, “and don’t call me that.”

“What should I call you, then?”

“Nothing.” He takes his hand from my face. “ At least, not yet.”


	15. A Choice With No Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, still taking requests for any ship from anywhere. Prompts are also welcome.
> 
> (Also to my fellow Victuri shippers, Who else is dying on the inside because of episode 10?)

I don’t go back to the dorms that night. Sleeping in the same room as the people who attacked me just to look brave would be stupid and anticlimactic. Frost sleeps on the floor and I sleep on his bed, on top of the quilt, breathing in the scent of his pillowcase. It smells like mint and something heavy, sweet, and distinctly male.

The rhythm of his breaths slows, and I prop myself up to see if he is asleep. He lies on his stomach with one arm around his head. His eyes are closed, his lips parted. For the first time, he looks as young as he is, and I wonder who he really is. Who is he when he isn’t Dauntless, isn’t an instructor, isn’t Frost, isn’t anything in particular?

Whoever he is, I like him. It’s easier for me to admit that to myself now, in the dark, after all that just happened. He is not sweet or gentle or particularly kind. But he is smart and brave, and even though he saved me, he treated me like I was strong. That is all I need to know.

I watch the muscles in his back expand and contract until I fall asleep.

I wake to aches and pains. I cringe as I sit up, holding my ribs, and walk up to the small mirror on the opposite wall. I am almost too short to see myself in it, but when I stand on my tiptoes, I can see my face. As expected, there is a dark blue bruise on my cheek. I hate the idea of slumping into the dining hall like this, but Frost’s instructions have stayed with me. I have to mend my friendships. I need the protection of seeming weak.

I tie my hair in a chignon style at the back of my head. The door opens and Frost walks in, shirtless, a towel in hand and his hair glistening with shower water. I find myself tracing water droplets as they cascade down his alabaster skin onto the floor. 

“Hi,” I say. My voice sounds tight. I wish it didn’t.

He touches my bruised cheek with just his fingertips. “Not bad,” he says. “How’s your head?”

“Fine,” I say. I’m lying—it feels like someone stuffed cotton balls into my cranium. I brush my fingers over the bump, and pain prickles over my scalp. It could be worse. I could be floating in the chasm.

Every muscle in my body tightens as his hand drops to my side, where I got kicked. He does it casually, but I can’t move.

“And your side?” he asks, his voice low.

“Only hurts when I breathe.”

He smiles. “Not much you can do about that.”

“Perseus would probably throw a party if I stopped breathing.”

“Well,” he says, “I would only go if there was cake.”

I laugh, and then wince, covering his hand to steady my rib cage. He slides his hand back slowly, his fingertips grazing my side. When his fingers lift, I feel an ache in my chest. Once this moment ends, I have to remember what happened last night. And I want to stay here with him.

He nods a little and leads the way out.

“I’ll go in first,” he says when we stand outside the dining hall. “See you soon, Natsu .”

He walks through the doors and I am alone. Yesterday he told me he thought I would have to pretend to be weak, but he was wrong. I am weak already. I brace myself against the wall and press my forehead to my hands. It’s difficult to take deep breaths, so I take short, shallow ones. I can’t let this happen. They attacked me to make me feel weak. I can pretend they succeeded to protect myself, but I can’t let it become true.

I pull away from the wall and walk into the dining hall without another thought. A few steps in, I remember I’m supposed to look like I’m cowering, so I slow my pace and hug the wall, keeping my head down. Elfman, at the table next to Loki and Lucy ’s, lifts his hand to wave at me. And then puts it down.

I sit next to Loki.

Jason isn’t there—he isn’t anywhere.

Elfman slides into the seat next to me, leaving his half-eaten muffin and half-finished glass of water on the other table. For a second, all three of them just stare at me.

“What happened?” he asks, lowering his voice.

I look over his shoulder at the table behind ours. Perseus sits there, eating a piece of toast and whispering something to Kyline**. My hand clenches around the edge of the table. I want him to hurt. But now isn’t the time.

Jellal is missing, which means he’s still in the infirmary. Vicious pleasure courses through me at the thought.

“Perseus, Jellal…,” I say quietly. I hold my side as I reach across the table for a piece of toast. It hurts to stretch out my hand, so I let myself wince and hunch over. “And…” I swallow. “And Jason.”

“Oh God,” says Lucy , her eyes wide.

“Are you all right?” Elfman asks.

Perseus’s eyes find mine across the dining hall, and I have to force myself to look away. It brings a bitter taste to my mouth to show him that he scares me, but I have to. Frost was right. I have to do everything I can to make sure I don’t get attacked again.

“Not really,” I say.

My eyes burn, and it’s not artifice, unlike the wincing. I shrug. I believe Levy’s warning now. Perseus, Jellal, and Jason were ready to throw me into the chasm out of jealousy—what is so unbelievable about the Dauntless leaders committing murder?

I feel uncomfortable, like I’m wearing someone else’s skin. If I’m not careful, I could die. I can’t even trust the leaders of my faction. My new family.

“But you’re just…” Elfman purses his lips. “It isn’t fair. Three against one?”

“Yeah, and Perseus is all about what’s fair. That’s why he grabbed Sting in his sleep and stabbed him in the eye.” Lucy snorts and shakes her head. “Jason, though? Are you sure, Natsu ?”

I stare at my plate. I’m the next Sting. But unlike him, I’m not going to leave.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sure.”

“It has to be desperation,” says Loki . “He’s been acting…I don’t know. Like a different person. Ever since stage two started.”

Then Jellal shuffles into the dining hall. I drop my toast, and my mouth drifts open.

Calling him “bruised” would be an understatement. His face is swollen and purple. He has a split lip and a cut running through his eyebrow and bandages across his forehead. He keeps his eyes down on the way to his table, not even lifting them to look at me. I glance across the room at Frost. He wears the satisfied smile I wish I had on.

“Did you do that?” hisses Loki .

I shake my head. “No. Someone—I never saw who—found me right before…” I gulp. Saying it out loud makes it worse, makes it real. “…I got tossed into the chasm.”

“They were going to kill you?” says Lucy in a low voice.

“Maybe. They might have been planning on dangling me over it just to scare me.” I lift a shoulder. “It worked.”

Lucy gives me a sad look. Loki just glares at the table.

“We have to do something about this,” Elfman says in a low voice.

“What, like beat them up?” Lucy grins. “Looks like that’s been taken care of already.”

“No. That’s pain they can get over,” replies Elfman. “We have to edge them out of the rankings. That will damage their futures. Permanently.”

Frost gets up and stands between the tables. Conversation abruptly ceases.

“Transfers. We’re doing something different today,” he says. “Follow me.”

We stand, and Elfman’s forehead wrinkles. “Be careful,” he tells me.

“Don’t worry,” says Loki . “We’ll protect her.”

Frost leads us out of the dining hall and along the paths that surround the Pit. Loki is on my left, Lucy is on my right.

“I never really said I was sorry,” Lucy says quietly. “For taking the flag when you earned it. I don’t know what was wrong with me.”

I’m not sure if it’s smart to forgive her or not—to forgive either of them, after what they said to me when the rankings went up yesterday. But my mother would tell me that people are flawed and I should be lenient with them. And Frost told me to rely on my friends. 

I don’t know who I should rely on more, because I’m not sure who my true friends are. Elfman and Kinana, who were on my side even when I seemed strong, or Lucy and Loki , who have always protected me when I seemed weak until I proved them wrong?

When her wide brown eyes meet mine, I nod. “Let’s just forget about it.”

I still want to be angry, but I have to let my anger go.

We climb higher than I’ve gone before, until Loki ’s face goes white whenever he looks down. Most of the time I like heights, so I grab Loki ’s arm like I need his support—but really, I’m lending him mine. He smiles gratefully at me.

Frost turns around and walks backward a few steps—backward, on a narrow path with no railing. How well does he know this place?

He eyes Jellal, who trudges at the back of the group, and says, “Pick up the pace, Jellal!”

It’s a cruel joke, but it’s hard for me to fight off a smile. That is, until Frost’s eyes shift to my arm around Loki ’s, and all the humor drains from them. His expression sends a chill through me. Is he…jealous?

We get closer and closer to the glass ceiling, and for the first time in days, I see the sun. Frost walks up a flight of metal stairs leading through a hole in the ceiling. They creak under my feet, and I look down to see the Pit and the chasm below us.

We walk across the glass, which is now a floor rather than a ceiling, through a cylindrical room with glass walls. The surrounding buildings are half-collapsed and appear to be abandoned, which is probably why I never noticed the Dauntless compound before. The Abnegation sector is also far away.

The Dauntless mill around the glass room, talking in clusters. At the edge of the room, two Dauntless fight with sticks, laughing when one of them misses and hits only air. Above me, two ropes stretch across the room, one a few feet higher than the other. They probably have something to do with the daredevil stunts the Dauntless are famous for.

Frost leads us through another door. Beyond it is a huge, dank space with graffiti covered walls and exposed pipes. The room is lit by a series of old-fashioned fluorescent tubes with plastic covers—they must be ancient.

“This,” says Frost, his eyes bright in pale light, “is a different kind of simulation known as the fear landscape. It has been disabled for our purposes, so this isn’t what it will be like the next time you see it.”

Behind him, the word “Dauntless” is spray-painted in red artistic lettering on a concrete wall.

“Through your simulations, we have stored data about your worst fears. The fear landscape accesses that data and presents you with a series of virtual obstacles. Some of the obstacles will be fears you previously faced in your simulations. Some may be new fears. The difference is that you are aware, in the fear landscape, that it is a simulation, so you will have all your wits about you as you go through it.”

That means that everyone will be like Divergent in the fear landscape. I don’t know if that’s a relief, because I can’t be detected, or a problem, because I won’t have the advantage.

Frost continues, “The number of fears you have in your landscape varies according to how many you have.”

How many fears do I have? I think of facing the crows again and shiver, though the air is warm.

“I told you before that the third stage of initiation focuses on mental preparation,” he says. I remember when he said that. On the first day. Right before he put a gun to Perseus’s head. I wish he had pulled the trigger.

“That is because it requires you to control both your emotions and your body—to combine the physical abilities you learned in stage one with the emotional mastery you learned in stage two. To keep a level head.” One of the fluorescent tubes above Frost’s head twitches and flickers. Frost stops scanning the crowd of initiates and focuses his stare on me.

“Next week you will go through your fear landscape as quickly as possible in front of a panel of Dauntless leaders. That will be your final test, which determines your ranking for stage three. Just as stage two of initiation is weighted more heavily than stage one, stage three is weighted heaviest of all. Understood?”

We all nod. Even Jellal, who makes it look painful.

If I do well in my final test, I have a good chance of making it into the top ten and a good chance of becoming a member. Becoming Dauntless. The thought makes me almost giddy with relief.

“You can get past each obstacle in one of two ways. Either you find a way to calm down enough that the simulation registers a normal, steady heartbeat, or you find a way to face your fear, which can force the simulation to move on. One way to face a fear of drowning is to swim deeper, for example.” Frost shrugs. “So I suggest that you take the next week to consider your fears and develop strategies to face them.”

“That doesn’t sound fair,” says Perseus. “What if one person only has seven fears and someone else has twenty? That’s not their fault.”

Frost stares at him for a few seconds and then laughs. “Do you really want to talk to me about what’s fair?”

The crowd of initiates parts to make way for him as he walks toward Perseus, folds his arms, and says, in a deadly voice, “I understand why you’re worried, Perseus. The events of last night certainly proved that you are a miserable coward.”

Perseus stares back, expressionless.

“So now we all know,” says Frost, quietly, “that you are afraid of a short, skinny girl from Abnegation.” His mouth curls in a smile.

Loki puts his arm around me. Lucy ’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. And somewhere within me, I find a smile too.

When we get back to the dorm that afternoon, Jason is there.

Loki stands behind me and holds my shoulders—lightly, as if to remind me that he’s there. Lucy edges closer to me.

His eyes have shadows beneath them, and his face is swollen from crying. Pain stabs my stomach when I see him. I can’t move. The scent of peppermint, once pleasant, turns sour in my nose.

“Natsu," Jason says, his voice breaking. “Can I talk to you?”

“Are you kidding?” Loki squeezes my shoulders. “You don’t get to come near her ever again.”

“I won’t hurt you. I never wanted to…” he covers his face with both hands. “I just want to say that I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t…I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I…please forgive me, please….”

He reaches for me like he’s going to touch my shoulder, or my hand, his face wet with tears.

Somewhere inside me is a merciful, forgiving person. Somewhere there is a THING***who tries to understand what people are going through, who accepts that people do evil things and that desperation leads them to darker places than they ever imagined. I swear she exists, and she hurts for the repentant boy I see in front of me.

But if I saw it, I wouldn’t recognize 'em.

“Stay away from me,” I say quietly. My body feels rigid and cold, and I am not angry, I am not hurt, I am nothing. I say, my voice low, “Never come near me again.”

Our eyes meet. His are dark and glassy. I am nothing.

“If you do, I swear to God I'll kill you,” I say. “You worthless piece of shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Kyline and Jason are my OCs in this. Jason and Kyline are siblings. Jason looks like Percy Jackson, except with ultramarine eyes and Kyline has royal blue eyes.
> 
> ***Natsu is still very confused and split on its gender. More gender neutral pronouns will be used from now on.


End file.
